


Things You Wrote On the Walls

by moonsandstar_s



Series: shadows and sparks [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, F/M, both canon and not-canon things, everyone appears, i took liberty with past stories and made some characters that dont appear in the show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-04-29 00:02:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 131,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsandstar_s/pseuds/moonsandstar_s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s a warrior. A Faunus. A renegade runaway. The topography of scars that mark her body are only a harsh map of the life she’s led. She’s Blake; she’s drowning, falling; she wished upon a million stars and they all failed her, every single time. Vagrants have no place falling in love, but somehow, it comes crashing in like the realest thing. </p><p>She’s a sister. A daughter. A partner. She’s all these things, but still she’s unsure of who she is. She’s Yang; and she’s aflame, afire. They both know it’s not at all what was supposed to happen, but the imperfections only make it real— partners. A team. A tale.</p><p>Shards come together to form a whole, huntresses come together to create a team, lives come together to form a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Forever Fall

 

* * *

 

 _Yet my wings were not meant for such a flight —_  
_except that then my mind was struck by lightning_  
_through which my longing was at last fulfilled_

 _Here powers failed my high imagination:_  
_but by now my desire and will were turned,_  
_like a balanced wheel rotated evenly_

_By the love that moves the sun and the other stars._

_— **dante, inferno- movement iii**_

  
  
  
_All around Blake, there is blood._

_It runs in the streets like water. It is absolutely and utterly inescapable, incongruous with the meticulous surroundings that swirl out around her; the shrieks of the injured and dying ring in the air. It’s a macabre scene. But she’s unmoved. She stands, unscathed, alone— in the midst of a reeking scarlet tide that swirls around towers made of etched, grisly bone, whispering hungrily as it laps at her feet. She can’t breathe, can’t move; the corpses that float in the sea of red glare at her with dead, glazed, accusatory eyes._

_“You are a part of this bloodshed, Blake.” A resonating voice edged with a taunting sneer floats from behind her: she cannot move, knows that if she does, she will see faces of the dead. And yet—_

_They’re all around her, these arcane ghosts she’s spent her life chasing. The corpses are not what she is scared of. She has seen death and slaughter before. It is the souls that linger in the air, tangible and paramount, that wrench a visceral fear from deep within her._

_She sees her mother’s dead body whipped past in the rank deluge and she almost throws up, nausea rising up inside her throat with an acrid burn: her mother’s pale hair is tangled in rusty blood, the remains of her eyes wide open; glassy orbs of lightless, clouded amber. Her skin is streaked with scarlet, berry drops of blood— her last moments drawn out, tormented, and then all the others who have been slaughtered—_

“Blake, you’re not paying attention. I need you to _listen_.”

Adam’s gruff voice drew her from dark memories of even darker nightmares. He was glaring at her with a mixture of annoyance and concern, one hand raking through his ruffled red hair, making it stand up in spiky tufts.

“Sorry,” she muttered, hardly meaning it. Adam set down his garnet-studded chalice, gazing at her through hooded dark eyes over his steepled fingers. He was her partner; she knew him better than anyone— his feelings, thoughts. Right now, she could only get a murky, careful cloudiness from him— he was deliberately guarded, hiding something from her. Lately, she had been getting that: along with a hot, vibrant edge of reckless anger. Ayran had changed him, and their Bond was crumbling. His Aura wasn’t a warm, orange-touched red anymore. It was darker, malevolent, like blood.

And hers… hers was the iridescent edge of twilight, barely there, like it always was.

“All day,” he said, emphasizing his words as he passed one hand over the ebony horns that rucked out over his head, “you’ve been fluctuating between a damned quietness and clipped words. I _know_ you; you’re hiding something.”

“ _I’m_ hiding something, Adam?” Her words were disbelieving, but her tone was sharp with accusation, lashing like a whip. Instantly, his expression shut down into a blank coolness, but his eyes _burned,_ blazing with thorn-sharp disapproval.

“Are you insinuating something, Belladonna?”

She hated when he called her that. It was his way of expressing his displeasure with her. Of digging a knife between her shoulderblades, and twisting it in. Moreover, she knew it was in the dwindling list of things he’d ever call her, because she was well on a path to cut all ties— a road she couldn’t turn back on.

He had no clue.

“No,” she growled, letting her temper fan into a fire, flaring white-hot inside of her veins like an electric wire. “Maybe I’m wondering why _we’re still being monsters_ when you’ve insisted we aren’t.” Her last words were punctuated with a bite of anger, and his mask of disaffected coolness slipped as he faltered.

“Why?” There was note of incredulity in his voice as he drummed his fingers on the edge of the table. “Why do you think, Blake? All these years have passed with little change! We’ve done hardly anything. Humans don’t see us as equals. They still use us to work for them and they beat up those who stand up to their cruelty. There’s no impunity with them! None of them are stopping and _no one is helping us_!” The last sentence was delivered with volume and she flinched.

She bowed her head, a docile gesture, but defiance was thrumming through her, and she heard him snort before slamming his chair back and stalking from the room with a longlegged stride.

As soon as the door had slammed behind him, she let her head fall forward, despair filling her chest.  


* * *

 

“You sent for us, Lord Ayran?” 

Adam’s voice was husky with deference, and the leader of the White Fang rose from his throne of bones. It was fused together in an intricate design— dripping femurs, tibias. Skulls crowned the crest of the throne, and Ayran rose as they approached. 

The White Fang’s Faunus leader and overlord was not someone to be trifled with. He was a tall, tall Faunus, broad as an oak tree, with huge shoulders corded with wiry muscle, his hair a curling mass of coppery-black tresses. There was perpetually a mad gleam in his eye, and scars puckered his throat, suggesting that someone had tried and failed to kill him. Dark, scrolling tattoos twined all over his bulging arms. His face was angular— beautiful, even, in the way that sharks and panthers were beautiful. His torn, notched animal ears— scarred from fights— pricked as he looked at Adam and Blake; she could see his sharp fangs shine as his lips drew back in a twisted, grimacing grin. They seemed almost permanently stained with a reddish hue of blood. His pupils were ringed with a corona of hauntingly bright, jaded amber that glittered with just a shadow of menace— they were beseeching, supplicating, and that was why he was so charismatic. He was deceitful, formidable, but with a pretty face like his, he could win over almost anyone. 

“Ah, my two favorite fighters return.” He stepped down from his throne, a disconcerting smile still pulling his lips up in a twist, though his eyes glinted with fastidious distaste. Blake repressed a shudder as he silkily wove through them, resisting the urge to flee. She’d liked Julian, the old White Fang overlord, much, much better. “And both of your pretty faces intact, to boot. How considerate. Taurus.” His eyes sharpened, returning to Adam. “Taurus, Taurus, Taurus. My second in command. I am pleased with your performances as of late.” 

Hatred blazed in Blake’s chest as she remembered Ayran commanding Adam to murder a Schnee Dust Company corporate— and it was snuffed out as she remembered the proud, arrogant gleam in Adam’s eyes after he had slit the man’s throat. _You’re both monsters,_ she thought fiercely. _Monsters._

“Belladonna,” Ayran purred. “Little kitty-cat, my darling… today, you shall prove your prowess. I have a mission for you two. A secret one.” He shifted, his demeanor switching from dangerously playful to cold cruelty. His eyes flickered with shadows, turning from two crystal rings of emerald and amber to a shark’s predatory gaze. “If any of the White Fang hears of this, you will both be slain.Executed. Is that clear?” 

“Crystal, my Lord,” Blake said, struggling to keep the growl of loathing from her tone. Ayran’s eyes flashed— green, amber— but he didn’t comment on her insubordination. 

“Yes, Lord Ayran. We understand.” Adam bowed his head, but when he looked up, his eyes shone with an adoration that made Blake want to throw up. 

“Where are we going?” She asked instead, pullingGambol Shroud closer and eyeing the manic gleam in Ayran’s pupils with a considerable amount of wariness. 

“I’m _so_ pleased you asked,” he said with a lecherous smirk. “In an hour, a train sets off from Schnee Company headquarters, and it cuts right through Forever Fall. It’s loaded with as much dust as it can hold. Enough to last us for _months,_ you see. And it’s guarded heavily, as our recent… ambushes have set the humans on their alert.” His voice dripped with disdain on the word _human_ , and he passed a tongue thoughtfully over his fangs, before smiling. “But you two have proved yourselves time and time again. I have no doubt that you can handle a few faulty guards that James Ironwood has conjured up.” 

“Yes, sir,” Blake and Adam said in the same monotonous voice, before bowing their heads. Ayran shook his head, lanky curls falling down to shield a scar that puckered his temple. 

“Go now,” the Lord of the White Fang rumbled. “And pay careful heed to this: should you fail, you could lose all.” He turned before they could say anything, stepping onto the dais, and vanished behind his lectern of bones. 

“ _Dammit,_ Blake.” Adam said harshly, anger in his voice, as soon as he’d gone from their view. He whirled on her. “Why do you have to bait him like that?” 

“I can’t help it. Vicious bureaucrats get under my skin.” 

His voice was seething. “Even so—“ 

She held up a hand, anger still prickling her heart. “ _Don’t_ , Adam. Let’s go.” 

She sheathed Gambol Shroud, swinging herself up to the windows that arched on the high, shadowy walls. It was beginning to turn to dusk, she thought, a beautiful hue of colors splashed across the sky: gold, amber, and flame. The sun sank in a brilliant ball of light, the heart of silence, and she remained crouched on the windowsill for a heartbeat, nostalgia sweeping over her in a drowning wave. 

“Move along, Blake,” Adam’s annoyed voice drifted up to her. “We haven’t got a lot of time.” 

She unlatched the window with a decisive _click_ and jumped out, falling as Adam had taught her so long ago: letting her body float down as gently as if she were ash sifting away on the wind. She landed with barely a whisper of grass, and Adam came down, completely silent, behind her. 

“Forever Fall, he said,” Adam observed. “Should we split up? We’d cover more ground that way—“ 

“Fine by me,” she said shortly, relieved to get away from him. “If you find it, come get me. Vice versa.” 

He nodded curtly before turning and springing off into the forests with a burst of crimson trailing from his wake. She turned, eyes traveling up the dilapidated, corrugated sides of the warehouse that served as the White Fang’s base. 

With a final glance at her home that was now an empty shell that didn’t deserve to be called as such, she turned and shot like an arrow into the whispering forest.   


* * *

 

Forever Fall was true to its name: it was pure autumn, down to the smell of woodsmoke that faintly touched the breeze. Blake’s chest heaved, and she trembled— from cold or something else, she wasn’t sure. The distant shrieks of Grimm wavered through the air and she looked up, to the halo of red leaves that waved gently in the wind, framing the shard of ice-blue sky like tiny banners.  

She could sense Adam— he was her partner, she could _always_ sense him— as a dark force quivering in the edges of her mind. He was searching for the train tracks, and he thought she was too: in reality, she was was hunched in on herself, on a cracked boulder. The grass around her was withered, dry. Stray ants scuttled around the cracks, and the wind whistled lowly through the trees. 

She was anxious, a tangled ball of emotions warring inside of her: dread, hatred, misery, thrill. But she didn’t know which feelings were hers, and which ones were Adam’s. The hatred and thrill were his, she assumed, but the dread and misery were solely her own. 

“Blake. It’s time _.”_  

Her shoulders stiffened as his rough rasp growled through the air. Hating how youthful— weak, even— her voice was, she quietly responded, “okay.”

The breeze seemed icier as she raced after him, stirring up great drifts of dust, and puffs of leaves in their wake. The trees whispered of their passing. Blake felt unwelcome and afraid. Adam— she could feel him, taut and eager to please Ayran— and she quickly backpedaled out of the Bond, her heart thudding a tattoo against her ribs. 

A precipice soon loomed ahead. A great sea of crimson stretched fathomlessly beyond, leaves melding like a rippling sea. The sky was close, close enough that she felt that if she reached out, she could pluck a shard of azure from the distance. The distant, throaty whistle of a Schnee train echoed through the air. In the distance, Blake saw a Nevermore wheeling against the sky, and she swallowed— _streets teeming with blood like water_ — before hurtling after Adam, outrunning all but her thoughts. 

She blasted off the cliff edge after him, feeling wind run its icy fingers through her hair, snatching her up and thrusting her, spinning her end over end like a leaf buffeted by wind until she landed with a thump on the shuddering metal of the train car. Adam was already slinking to the dark, raised rectangle of the entrance, the embossed emblem upon his back catching the sun’s dying light; it raced like a running spark of fire along his hair. 

Blake stared out into the forest for a moment, her hair tossed out past her shoulders as the vagrant train whistled eerily. _I’ll wreck this if I have to,_ she promised herself grimly, before turning back to Adam. _All of it._

Wordlessly, he popped it open; with a curling, disdainful smirk towards the waving trees, he dropped inside, soundlessly as a cat. His eyes glowed through the dark as she followed, thumping silently beside him. 

Red bars of light shattered the darkness, and Blake swore— an epithet that Adam let out a dry laugh at— before an AK-130 Android stepped forward with a hollow _clunk,_ red beamed eyes staring at them. 

“Looks like we’re gonna be doing this the hard way,” he snarled, but there was glee thrumming like a pulse from him, his eyes glittering with the cold, savage joy of battle. Then, she saw the hardness of Ayran in him— the feral, vulpine viciousness that belied the kind mentor he had once been. 

The Androids all turned on, a red light slowly filling the traincar, turning Adam to blood-red. Blake forced her chilling certainty down and smiled, allowing— for the last time— the compelling fire of the White Fang glory to flood her, the high adrenaline of sparring and battles. “Don’t be so dramatic,” she purred, and they slid together, like two puzzle pieces: back to back, defending each other. For the last time, she drew out Gambol Shroud, feeling Adam— cold certainty, grim determination, dark beauty— fill her. 

” _Intruder,_ ” the Android clicked. “ _Identify yourself._ ”

She felt Adam smirk through the darkness before he lunged— lightning fast, a razor slice in the dark— and broke the Android in two. 

After that, things blurred in the fire of battle; everything slowing to the space between heartbeats. She spun up into the air, flipping end over end with shadows blotting the air around her; she slashed and whirled and dove, untouched, aiding Adam and helping alike, until they had annihilated every last one of them into curled chunks of ruined metal and shattered glass. 

Adam exploded out of the freight car and onto the roof, where dusk had truly fallen, the air turning to cold. He cursed loudly as he saw a horde of Androids running flat-out towards them, metal making a clamoring din, their blades extended. In the failing light, it looked like they were singing with teardrops of fire, light racing along every blade. 

“Let’s do this!” Adam shouted, before springing forward and laying into an Android. Blake followed, flipping into the air, leaving shadows and displaced air behind as she diverted all her anger, all her emotion into the fight, feeling the flow of energy through hers and Adam’s Bond exert itself in the humming of the air. 

The Androids lay, decimated, in what could have been merely moments or days; Adam hardly stopped to ruffle his hair before he was plunging into a second freight car, and she followed, flicking one ear irritably as darkness closed around her once more. 

This car was vacant, empty except for a large, faintly glowing box that was wedged in a corner of the corrugated space. Adam opened it, examining the contents before a humorless grin crooked his face. He let it fall closed with a tinny _clank._  

“Perfect. Move up to the next car,” he demanded. “I’ll set the charges.” 

Blake stared blankly at him, feeling his breathless energy— _slaughter,_ she thought hopelessly. _That’s what he wants to do…_ “What about the crew members?

Menace entered his voice, tone rumbling to growl of displeasure. _In that moment, he had never looked more like Ayran,_ she thought, resolve burning to steel. “What about them?” 

An earthshaking crash rang out behind them, shattering the silence as a low hum shivered under their feet, and a Spider Droid dropped from the walls, clicking its pincers with menacing intent. Adam swore, jerking his head so the Grimm mask fell somberly over his eyes. He threw a wild-eyed look at her before advancing on it, his weapons extended. 

“ _Adam,”_ Blake pleaded, anxious, but he had already pounced with a roar of unadulterated rage. She stared— dumbstruck— as he flipped and whirled in a tawny glow of fury, his Aura pulsing in time with his strikes, the screeches of metal only countered by beams of white-tinged azure exploding and rocketing, crazily flying blue shafts of light. She hurled herself into the fight, swearing profusely as the Droid effortlessly sent her flying, skidding against the grooved floor. She yelped in agony. _Ayran,_ she thought dizzily, _he never told us it would be like this—_  

“Blake!” Adam cried, his voice lost in a yowl of pain as the Droid hurled him and he went _thwack_ against the wallwith a sickening crunching noise. Fury condensing like a sun in her chest before expanding and exploding out, filling her veins with thrilling fire, she flew at the Droid— 

and it knocked her flat, and she coughed as two clicking iron pincers moved towards her with lethal intent. “We need to get out of here!” she called, voice raw with the clouds of dust that had been shaken into the air. 

And then Adam was there, sheltering her in his arms with worry etched on his face as he scuttled backward. “Stay with me,” he breathed, before bursting into the cool dusk night. 

The Droid sprang out after them, landing with a snarling, hissing clatter of steel on the top of the freight train. Smoke blew over Blake in an acrid, stinging deluge, blotting out the failing light as red lanced through her vision. Adam set her down— none too gently— and clambered backward, Wilt glowing a malicious scarlet. “Buy me some time!” he shouted at her, his voice gravelly with pain and frustration. 

She stared in disbelief, Gambol Shroud in her bleeding, chafed palm. “ _Are you sure_?” The cold metal felt good against her skin, and she glanced back at the howling Spider Droid, something tightening in her chest as Adam crouched— she remembered the dreams, of raining ash and bloated corpses and frothing blood and the miasma of reeking demise— and Adam turned an enraged expression on her, searing and seething, furious. 

“Do it!” he snarled at her, voice crackling with lightning, livid. Wheeling around, she vaulted herself forward— feet slamming down— careened towards the Droid, a grunt of exertion huffing out of her as she spun around, fighting her last, leaving shadows all around her. Time faded to a distant hum— it was only the pattern of strike, counterattack, block and defense. It seemed impervious to her strikes, and she threw herself backward, skidding to a halt behind Adam. He glanced at her before screeching, “ _move_!” 

An icy coldness flooding her veins, she turned— the forest was rushing past, whispering, blurred and indistinct as it passed too quickly for her to pick out any single detail— and leaped the abyss to the next freight car. Whipping a wild-eyed gaze past herself, she saw Adam, concentrating a fierce white-hot ball between his palms. Horror broke over her as it shot towards the Droid with a swipe of Adam’s sword, exploding it in a fearsome shriek of groaning metal that burst into an inferno of red, rubble and debris falling to the ground. He laughed, a horrible rasp of imperious arrogance, the cackle he’d uttered after he had killed. 

Adam turned as if nothing inconsequential had occurred, and Blake rose, emotion thrumming through her. She saw Adam watch her quizzically over the gap that seemed like miles before realization crashed over his face. 

He reached out, two fingers extended in a plea, his wretched, burning onyx eyes on her. Only on her, and she felt a wave of electric energy surge through their Bond, so powerful she almost fell backward. They were lion’s eyes, burning and deadly and beautiful like the very first time she had ever seen him, like the iridescent shimmer of flames, turning tawny in the light like two twin fires burning through the dark. She was him in that moment, feeling his utter disbelief and then— a wave of wrenching sadness and pain, seeing herself, a lanky dark Faunus with terribly devastated eyes and blood staining her, drifting away into the darkness. 

“Goodbye,” she whispered, before Gambol Shroud was swinging down and severing the connection between the cable cars, and tears stung her eyes. His expression shattered into raw pain as a chasm opened between them, dark and uncrossable. 

She saw the light in his eyes die to a shadow. 

And then he was gone, gone, _gone,_ the boy that had meant more to her than anything. The train continued on silent tracks, the forest watching her with cold eyes. 

And she was drawn into the blood red forest, leaving her utterly, utterly alone. 

 

 


	2. Chapter I- Set Into Motion

**_Yang_ ** ****

The inside of the ship was _cold_. 

Yang supposed she should have been able to make a better draw of her surroundings of that— better than a wry quip on the _coldness,_ of all things to be concerned about— but when her nerves jangled into overdrive, her thoughts clouded. It was just a fact, and she was _very_ anxious— a nervousness that decimated any hint of diplomacy she might have. 

Beacon was a prestigious school of the most skilled fighters: a scrupulous, meticulous school of rigorous training of the noble huntresses and huntsmen. For that, she already felt a chill of unease. What if she wasn’t good enough? Her father had always sent her and Ruby to train with Qrow, and among the few scraps of information she knew about her real mother, she took after her fighting skills. She was truly pursuing the life that Summer Rose’s light had been snuffed out in. What was to say the Grimm wouldn’t slaughter her, too? 

Brushing away the thoughts to think about another time— she did that, too, when she was anxious— she smiled at Ruby before smothering her in a hug, pride brimming in her chest. “I can’t believe my _baby sister_ is going to Beacon with me! This is the best day ever!” 

“Please stop,” Ruby let out a muffled groan, and Yang shook with silent laughter. 

“But I’m so proud of you!” _It’s just what Mom would do,_ she mused, almost as an afterthought, _be proud of Ruby._

“Really, sis, it was nothing—“ 

“What do you mean?” Yang furrowed her brows, tilting her head quizzically. “It was _incredible._ Everyone at Beacon is going to think you’re the _bee’s knees.”_ She flashed a wicked, crooked grin, the kind that let Ruby know she was teasing. 

“I don’t _want_ to be the bee’s knees—or _any_ kind of knees, for that matter. I just want to be a normal girl with normal knees,” Ruby retorted. 

“Cliche,” Yang sang she frowned at the dark look that brewed, stormy, in her sister’s eyes. She was looking withdrawn under the crimson-tinged bangs that fell haphazardly over her eyes; that was how Yang knew how anxious she was. She and Ruby weren’t Bonded, of course, but they were sisters, and she could read her better than anyone.  

“What’s with you… aren’t you excited?” 

“Of course I’m excited.” Ruby let out a gusty sigh, gray eyes downcast. “I just… I got moved ahead _two years,_ you know? I don’t want people to think I’m special, or anything…” 

Yang felt a pang of sympathy, her voice softening. “You _are_ special, Ruby. It doesn’t have to set you apart, though.” 

“I guess.” She drew her shoulders closer, and Yang’s lips pursed in a frown before she backed away. There was a diverse crowd on the airship, most of them watching the news with dispassionate faces, though there were a few— a pale, stoic looking black haired boy; a slender girl with frowning amber eyes, a bow atop her head and an angry gleam in her expression— who were attentive to the news broadcast, recounting the White Fang’s exploits. As they watched, though, it dissolved into a hologram of a stern looking huntress. 

“Who’s that?” Yang queried. 

Almost as if it had heard her, the hologram deadpanned, “My name is Glynda Goodwitch.” 

“Oh,” Yang said, and Ruby sniggered. 

“You are among a privileged few who have received the honor of being selected to attend this prestigious academy. Our world is experiencing an incredible time of peace, and as future huntsmen and huntresses, it is your duty to uphold it. You have demonstrated the courage needed for such a task, and now it is our turn to provide you with the knowledge and the training to protect our world."

Ruby leaned over, peering at the vast space that spread out, a sprawl of cities and forests lit with patchwork lights. “Oh, wow! Look, you can see Signal from up here!” Her voice lowered, eyes shining. “I guess home isn't too far after all.”

Yang smiled, a smile that hid her sadness. Her real mother, Raven, had been here once, looking up at the soaring spires of Beacon that stabbed starkly at the sky, a place of alluring prospect… Had she been like Ruby, excited? Or had she been stoic, determined? 

“Beacon's our home,” Yang said softly, “now.” 

She looked out; the sky was plumed with feathers of clouds, the vast velvety blue riffled with tiny rainbows of light. Beacon itself resembled a towering Gothic cathedral, a single turret disappearing into the clouds, while numerous other towers wreathed the building. The windows glinted with afternoon light like shards of fire. Precipices plunged on the south side of the academy, and ornate fountains sent ribbons of arcing water splashing into gurgling pools. The whole place was abuzz with activity— of teams chattering and laughing, the distant clash of metal on metal, and the gasp of her sister as she took in the beautifully detailed surroundings, manifesting in an overwhelming sense of intricacy. 

"Wow..." she breathed. 

"The view from Vale's got nothing on this,” Yang observed, eyes drifting over the emerald hedges, the statues of warriors slaying Grimm. There was a mantra that scrolled along the curving arches along the fountains, in what she recognized as Latin:  _libertas perfundet omnia luce._

“Freedom will flood all things with light,” Yang murmured softly, under her breath, before Ruby let out a breathless squeal.

“Oh my gosh, _sis!_ That kid's got a collapsible staff! And she's got a fire sword!” Ruby made a break for it, and, startled, Yang caught her hood and dragged her, struggling back. "Ow! _Ooww_!"

"Easy there, little sister,” Yang said, puzzled at the excited shine in her eyes, worried that she would be so impassive over the school but so eager about this. “They're just weapons.”

"' _Just weapons_ ’?” Ruby gaped at her, eyes glittering with disbelief. “They're an extension of ourselves! They're a part of us! Oh, they're so _cool!_ "

"Well, why can't you swoon over your own weapon? Aren't you happy with it?"

Looking bashful, she clicked her weapon into a scythe, metal sheathing against metal in a hissing din. ”Of course I'm happy with Crescent Rose! I just— really like seeing new ones. It's like meeting new people, but better..."

Yang playfully batted her hood down, grinning lopsidedly. "Ruby, come _on_. Why don't you go try and make some friends of your own?"

She took off her hood, looking up with wide eyes. ”But... why would I need friends if I have you?"

Yang’s voice softened. “I’m not going to be with you forever, Ruby. You’re… well, you’re growing up now. You have to mature. You need to make friends. Allies, even.” She clapped Ruby on the shoulder, sending her reeling. “I know you can do it.” 

“Ah!” Ruby stumbled and toppled backward, and Yang’s eyebrows shot up as she fell into an organized pyramid of alabaster cases, plated in platinum studs. She winced— she hadn’t meant to make Ruby stumble— but before she could intervene, an enraged looking girl swooped in, eyes hot with anger.  

"What are you _doing_?” 

_Uh-oh,_ Yang thought, _better let her handle this…_ She stepped back— just out of range, but close enough to step in if things got aggressive. Truthfully, she was curious to see how Ruby would handle a hot-headed stranger; she recognized the girl as Weiss— was it Weiss?— Schnee, Heiress of the Dust Company. Eyes darting curiously from pair to pair, Yang grinned. 

"Uh, sorry!" Ruby yelped, hauling herself to her hands and knees. 

" _Sorry_? Do you have _any_ idea of the damage you could have caused?" Weiss was practically smoking with rage, and Yang raised an eyebrow at her volatile temper. 

"Uuhhh..."

”Give me that!" Weiss snatched the luggage from Ruby and popped it open, sunlight hitting the jeweled crystal vials of crimson, amber, gold, and sapphire Dust. "This is _Dust_ —mined and purified from the Schnee quarry!"

Ruby was staring up at her, still with a taken aback expression, but a slow smolder of hurt was on her face as Weiss continued berating her. "What are you, _brain-dead_? _Dust!_ Fire, water, lightning, energy!"

"I... I know—“

"Are you even _listening_ to me? Is _any_ of this sinking in? _What_ have you got to say for yourself?"

Yang tossed a look over her shoulder, feeling a strange prickle between her shoulderblades, like someone was watching her. And certainly there was: the stoic-looking girl from the airship. Her eyes were a pale, strange amber, ringed in gold, her hair tumbling down in dark waves. She watching Weiss with an expression of utmost disdain, a hint of absolute loathing in her expression; as Yang stared, she picked up the bottle and started walking slowly towards the confrontation, an unhurried suggestion in her saunter. 

Weiss brushed off the myriad of colored soot, eyes glittering, and glared furiously at Ruby. "Unbelievable! This is _exactly_ the kind of thing I was talking about!"

"I'm really, _really_ sorry!” Ruby said. 

"Ugh, you complete _dolt!_ What are you even _doing_ here? Aren't you a little young to be attending Beacon?"

"Well, I-I..." Ruby was starting to look uncomfortable, and Yang resolved to go in, to help her— 

"This isn't your ordinary combat school,” Weiss spat, anger graveling her tone. “It's not just sparring and practice, you know! We're here to fight _monsters_ , so— watch where you're going!"

Ruby looked calm, though the beginnings of a slow, boiling fury were lit behind her eyes as she rose. "Hey, I _said_ I was sorry, princess!"

Yang started as the dark haired, yellow eyed girl strode up behind her, her eyes cold and glittering with contempt as she flicked her gaze over Weiss. The iciness in them was enough to floor Yang— she was taken aback by the steely set of her jaw. "It's heiress, actually.” Her voice was cool as she gave a not at all friendly smile to the pair of them. "Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company. One of the largest producers of energy propellant in the world."

Weiss tossed her head, a smug, arrogant look on her face."Finally! Some _recognition!_ "

”In fact,” the girl went on, tone taking on an edge of frost and contempt— Yang noticed her hand was drawn, clenched, the veins on it standing out in a stark topography of lines, “it’s the same company infamous for its controversial labor forces and _questionable_ business partners."

"What?— How dare you— The nerve of... _Ugh_!"

“Thanks for helping out there,” Yang said, compelled to say something as the girl turned a raised eyebrow on her. “She was a bit… much.” 

“The Schnees tend to skew towards the more up-in-your-face side of the dispositional spectrum,” the girl said with a light sigh. “Their daughter is no different, believe me.” She turned, hair whisking out behind her, and stalked off, leaving Yang gazing, quizzically, after her. 

"I promise I'll make this up to you!" Ruby called after the storming-off Weiss, and Yang frowned down at Ruby.

“I’ve got to go, sis,” she said. “I’ll see you around.” She wheeled around, striding off— Beacon’s gleaming windows, sunlight bouncing off of them like fire, seemed to watch her. Crowds of friends and teams alike were gathered in noisy clusters, catching up with each other.  

In the midst of it, she felt _alone,_ somehow; that once, her kin had walked this way. Her mother, whom she didn’t even know the name of. Shivering— it was only the cusp of summer and fall, but she was cold nevertheless— she drew her rubbed leather vest closer, the light material of her skirt fluttering about her knees.

But she’d be a good Huntress. She had to be. If not for herself, then for the family she had left behind.  
  


* * *

 

“I don’t know about you, but I am _exhausted._ Tuckered. Enervated, you could say. _”_

Ruby looked up from where she had been busily scratching a message on crumpled paper and cocked an eyebrow. “Are you just listing off synonyms to sound smart?” 

“Maybe,” Yang admitted with a grin, flopping down on the floor. “But I _am_ tired.” 

“Me too. But I’m excited as well. We get teams tomorrow, and our partners.”

“That’s right.” Yang sat up, suddenly scouring the crowded room, full of initiates— tall, short, dark, light, friendly, guarded, and apprehension trickled through her. “I wonder who we’ll get…?”  

“As long as they can fight well, I’ll be okay with my choice,” Ruby shrugged nonchalantly, pausing with her pencil halfway to the paper, a fixed look of intense concentration on her face. 

“Whatcha doing?” Yang chirped, leaning forward to see the paper. 

Ruby glanced up, balked, and tucked the paper further under her with a bashful look. “Writing to the gang back at Signal. I promised to tell them how things are at Beacon.” 

“Aww, that’s so _cuteeee_ —“ She choked as a pillow smacked her in the face, blotting out the light, and her squeal as well. Startled, she toppled back, hearing Ruby hiss, “shut up! I didn’t get to bring my friends with me; it’s weird not knowing anyone—“

“Oh, that’s right!” Yang sat up, knocking the pillow away irritably, and fought the urge to stick her tongue out at Ruby. “Did you make any friends? What about that scraggly blonde kid— Jaune?” 

Ruby scowled, knotting her hands in the ruffled sleeping bag and letting her head thump down. “Yeah, _one.”_ The way she acquiesced Yang’s derogatory description of him made her think that Ruby wasn’t entirely satisfied with her friend pool so far. _“_ But I’m pretty sure Weiss counts as a negative friend.” 

Yang rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. “There’s no such thing as a negative friend. You’ve just made one friend, and one enemy— hey!” she spluttered as yet another pillow thwackedher in the face. “Okay, geez, geez!” She leaned forward and let her voice soften. “Ruby, you have friends all _around_ you. You just haven’t met them yet.”

Ruby sat up, blanched, and cut her eyes across the room. Yang followed her gaze, and noted the dark-haired girl with the amber eyes, curled by a candelabra. From this angle, she looked less human and more feline, her eyes a glittering catlike amber and her face sharp and lost in shadow. 

“That girl,” she whispered. “I don’t know her, but she saw what happened this morning, remember? She left before I could get her name…”

Yang grinned mischievously. “Well, now’s your chance!” She grabbed Ruby’s hand and hauled her up. 

“Wha— what are you _doing?”_ Ruby cried as Yang dragged her forward, past her feet bracing in the carpet.   
  


* * *

 

**_Blake_ **

Blake raised her eyebrows, perplexed as a loud _“helllooo!”_ shattered the silence.

_And there goes my peace,_ she thought ruefully, discreetly flipping down the left corner of her book and shrugging it down into her lap. She recognized the duo who had spoken and caused the clamor, but only vaguely so; there was the overly-chipper golden haired girl with the strange lilac eyes whom she’d briefly spoken with after shooting down the Schnee heiress’s hubris, and the younger girl who had evidently exploded with Dust. And worse yet, she thought with abject horror, they were heading _right_ towards her. 

“I believe you two may know each other?” the yellow-haired girl inquired as they pulled up right in front of Blake, her tone bright. 

Blake, letting out a resigned sigh, and tugged a strand of her hair as two twin sharp gazes locked on her. “Aren’t you that girl who exploded?” she said finally with thinly concealed boredom. 

“Yeah,” the shorter girl replied, laughing nervously. “Um, my name’s Ruby!” She proffered her hand, which Blake did not make a reach for. “But you can just call me crater…” she seemed to realize her joke fell flat as Blake raised an eyebrow, and she quickly added, “actually, you can just call me Ruby.” 

“Okay,” Blake said, casting a longing glance towards her book; as she did so, she heard the blonde hiss at Ruby, “ _what are you doing?”,_ which was quickly met with a panicked “ _I don’t know help me!”_

They both quickly turned back with nervous smiles and Blake clocked in the next droning minute of the conversation with her third eye roll. “So, what’s your name?” 

A sigh. “Blake.” 

_Does nothing deter these two?_ Blake wondered, honestly surprised as her deadpan was met with an equally buoyant, “Well, Blake, I’m Yang, Ruby’s older sister!” 

_They look nothing alike,_ she thought with some degree of suspicion— Ruby’s slender build, dark hair, and gray eyes, accented with a touch of rose-colorations, were the opposite of the colorful vibrancy that Yang sported; she was a myriad of colors coalescing together into a brightness that was jarring from the muted hues of the shadows swathed in her corner. Blake grunted an affirmation, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as Yang chimed in again. “I like your bow!”

Her voice was tight with irritation. _What’s she playing at?_ “…Thanks.” 

“It goes great with your— erm, pajamas!” 

Fourth eye roll of the night. Blake flicked her ear in irritation, her bow twitching with the movement. “ _Right_.” 

Ruby laughed uncomfortably, and Blake wondered what in the pits of Hell she had done to deserve this excruciating awkwardness when she just wanted to read her book. 

“Nice night, don’t you think?” 

_Okay, it’s time to cut this off, they’re clearly unable to take a hint._ “Yes,” she bit out through ground teeth. “It’s _lovely,_ almost as lovely as this book.” Her eyes cut between the fixedly smiling pair. “That I will continue to read— as _soon_ as you leave.” 

Yang’s eyes flickered and she went ramrod straight, eyebrows arching as she spun and shot a meaningful glance at Ruby. “Yeah, this girl’s a lost cause.” 

_Bite me,_ she thought, surly and mutinous, well aware that it was tantamount to immaturity. Ruby had not moved, however, and her eyes were on the book with a look of interest. 

“What’s it about?” 

“ _Huh?”_

“Your book.” Ruby gestured at the worn leather cover, sending surprise winging through Blake. “Does it have a name?”

Blake tucked her book closer, watching light dance across it in the flickering candle’s glow, the way the gilded gold letters seemed to ripple like snakes, like tendrils of moving fire. “Well, it’s about a man with two souls. Each fighting for control over his body.” Inexplicably, Adam ghosted through her mind; he had given her the book, and no amount of tirade against him could shake those softer memories. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s…. real lovely,” Yang muttered dryly, and Ruby stepped forward. Against her will, Blake could see something of her younger self in the unadulterated hope on her face.

_It only takes one person to make you feel like you can never go back home again, to have that phantom limb torn off, and to set a pyre alight within yourself,_ she thought.

“I love books,” Ruby told her. “Yang used to read to me every night before bed. Stories of heroes and monsters… they’re one of the reasons I want to be a Huntress!” 

Blake smiled despite herself. “And why is that? Hoping you’ll live happily ever after?” A hint of sadness colored her tone. “There are more monsters in this world than the Grimm we fight.”

“Well, I’m hoping we all will. As a girl, I wanted to be just like those heroes in the books— someone who fought for what was right, and protected people who couldn’t protect themselves.” Her eyes coruscated with a determined light; Blake could discern a hint of uncertainty on her sister’s face. 

“That’s very ambitious for a child,” Blake murmured, feeling her smile waver. “Unfortunately, the real world… it’s not the same as a fairy tale.” And there was Adam, dancing behind her mind’s eyes, and she remembered what it felt like to wreck it all and feel like she was missing something vital. 

“Well,” Ruby didn’t falter, “that’s why we’re here: to make it better.” 

“Oh!” Blake jumped as Yang’s squeal startled her from her thoughts. “I’m so proud of my baby sister!” She engulfed Ruby in a smothering embrace, which swiftly devolved into a scuffle, startling a genuine smile from Blake this time. 

“Um, well, Ruby, Yang, it’s a pleasure to ha—“ 

“What in the world is going on over here?” A voice sharp with irritation sliced through the noises of the grapple, and Blake— fifth eye roll of the night— saw it was the Schnee heiress— Weiss, she thought; Ayran had kept tabs on all the Schnees, and there was seldom he loathed more than the blood daughter of the Head Schnee. “Some of are _trying_ to sleep—!” She cut off, seething indignation on her face as Yang staggered back, glaring at her; in a perfect duo of fuming voices, they spat at each other, “oh no, not _you_ again!” 

 “Ah, shut up! Guys, she’s right, people are trying to sleep—“

“— oh, _now_ you’re on my side?” 

“Hey! I was _always_ on your side!” 

“Yeah! What’s your problem with my sister? She’s only trying to be nice!”

_I wonder if it’s genuinely possible to get an aneurysm from eye-rolling,_ Blake contemplated dryly before snapping her book shut with a resigned sigh, reaching for the candelabra. She pursed her lips at the bickering trio before breathing out, extinguishing the glow of the flames, and enveloping the room into darkness. 

When she opened her eyes the next morning, it was to the hectic noise of chaos descending upon the room. She sat up, ramrod straight, eyes darting around her; she could see a dark haired boy with strangely violet eyes patiently enduring the chatter of a smaller, ginger-haired girl; Yang threatening to melt Ruby’s scythe into a giant metal dildo if she poked her awake with it again; Weiss sheathing her silver rapier with a murderous look in the direction of a slavering blonde boy. Unfazed, she grabbed Gambol Shroud and made sure her bow was well hiding her ears before she stalked from the room. 

The day was coldly clear outside, other teams already abuzz with activity, some extolling their praises about Beacon as they meandered past. Blake had wanted to come to Beacon for so long: to these dark spires, lanterns of emerald, the walls plated with crystalline chips of Dust. It was _beautiful_ , she thought, heart aching, in a way she could never, _ever_ have, and never deserve. The stench of blood seemed to swirl through the air, along with the beautiful rictus grin of Adam, and she braced her hands on the icy rims of the nearby fountain. She watched her reflection in the water before it was shattered to pieces, shivering apart into darkness as droplets glanced on the water. She hardly recognized herself: hollow-cheeked, shadows under and within her eyes, her mouth twisted in a hard line. 

“You look pensive. Why so broody?”

A sprightly voice broke into her thoughts and she turned her head, jaw clenching and lip curling. She saw the girl from the night before— Yang, then. How annoyingly persistent. Apparently, she hadn’t gone through with her threat to melt her sister’s scythe into a dildo, as Blake could see Ruby walking through the courtyard, bearing the crimson weapon joyfully.  

“I’m fine.” She drew away from the fountain, brushing diamond rivulets of water from her fingers as a chilly wind blew between them, slipping out of colloquial into a formal tone. “I’m merely a bit anxious about the initiation. It’s very rigorous. Should you fail, you lose respect. This _is_ a prestigious Academy, after all.” 

“Right,” Yang said, looking puzzled as her rapid change to stiff formality. “Well, at least we all be with a team, after all. I hope my sister is on mine.” Yang tossed a glance over her shoulder. “She’s young, you know? Younger than the rest of us, and she’s reckless. I worry for her.” 

“She’ll be fine.” Blake followed her gaze. “She can do it; she wouldn’t be attending Beacon if she wasn’t able.” 

“I know.” Yang’s eyes flashed to the wide sweep of sky that breathed with wind and the white plumes of clouds. “I just hope you’re right.” 

The shrill, piercing noise of a whistle shattered the silence, then, and Blake’s hand automatically flew to the weapons belt strapped around her waist before she realized it was only one of the professors, calling for the initiates to board the Bullhead that was transport them to their first renaissance mission. 

Blake fell into the meager crowd of the other students. She looked up to the sky as they boarded the great metal airship— it was one of those early fall days, where the sky was impossibly blue and distant, the air tinged with the faint scent of smoke— and a small frown creased her brow. What _did_ the professors have in mind for an initiation, exactly? She wasn’t worried, per say, about her fighting ability to overcome whatever they threw at her— she _had_ clawed her way to the top and surpassed many others to gain a place in the prestigious academy, after all— but it was the mystery that shrouded the process that made her uneasy. 

Already, within the ship, the congregation had separated from a coalesced mass into smaller groups. Idly, Blake glanced over them— a thuggish-looking of belligerent cronies, a nervous cluster of insular initiates, and lastly, those who seemed average. She stood apart, her hands light on the railings that bordered the sheer glass windows of the airship; the dizzying height that dropped away below her might be daunting to another, but she’d come to terms with it. One didn’t harbor nonsensical fears and be a Huntress; the two didn’t comply. 

Soon, the sprawling patchwork of the first Kingdom was behind them, slowing melting into scraggy wilderness of moors, valleys, lakes, and forests, procuring birds and glances of light from their surfaces. Blake turned away as she saw the vibrant copper of Forever Fall in the distance, and resumed watching the other initiates. 

_Partners, and teams. That’s one thing I could forgo._ She bit her cheek. If she was honest, the prospect of having another partner… it wasn’t something she was eager for, not after Adam. A spear of anguish lanced through her and she banished the painful thoughts. _Whatever. Just— just so long as they’re decent._

Her eyes sought Forever Fall and she felt like the barriers of the windows had evaporated, leaving her standing over a fathomless depth. 

_As long as they’re not Adam._

 


	3. Chapter II - Lights of Twilight

**_Yang_ **

The precipice looked out over a dark forest. 

Yang shifted anxiously on the raised stone dais, feeling the motifs of the crossed swords and shield bump under her boots. The shrieking howls of Grimm carried over the air, and Headmaster Ozpin was standing, motionless, his back to them as he envisaged the forest below. The excited chatter of the other initiates ruined the otherwise windy, void silence; Yang didn’t join in with their prattle. She rubbed her arms, cold. _God, I’m nervous,_ she thought as the bronze-gilded plates of Ember Celica clanked together, the golden gauntlets gone icy with the atmosphere. 

“You ready?” She said to Ruby, who was looking around with the sort of awe that Yang associated with being bombarded by too many expectations at once. It was a daunting feeling. 

“Nervous, actually,” Ruby replied. “I’m sure I’m not the only one, I guess, and I’m better off than some…” Her eyes flashed to the boy next to her— vomit-boy, no, _Jaune—_ “Still. Teams, partners and all. It’s a big day.” 

“You got that right!” she chirped, before returning her gaze to the rippling, fluctuating sea of the Emerald Forest. Ozpin had turned around and was surveying the array of students with sharp interest and a mysterious scrutiny in his coppery gaze. Professor Goodwitch was watching them, albeit with a larger degree of doubt and scorn. 

“For years, you have trained to become warriors, and today, your abilities will be evaluated in the Emerald Forest.” Ozpin’s voice was rumbling, not menacing, but Yang still felt herself tauten, the wind rushing louder in her ears. For years, she had been striving to get _here,_ and now here she was. It was surreal. 

“Now, I'm sure many of you have heard rumors about the assignment of "teams." Well, allow us to put an end to your confusion. Each of you will be given teammates— _today_.”

Yang’s heart thudded harder, searing a tattoo against her ribs, and Ruby made a scared whimper. She glanced down the line, and saw the expressions of the other initiates: varying from nonchalant, to fear-stiffened, to thrilled, to a obstinate determination. She drew herself up, setting her jaw. This was tantamount to a test, that was all. Just a test. 

“These teammates,” Ozpin continued, “will be with you for the rest of your time here at Beacon. So it is in your best interest to be paired with someone with whom you can work well. That being said, the first person you make eye contact with after landing will be your partner for the next four years.” 

At that, even Yang was alarmed, before she flashed her gaze back at the line— who, now, all sported simultaneous looks of horror. 

“See?” A wild-eyed girl with a shock of ginger haired and a manic grin was whispering excitedly to a bored-looking boy next to her. “I _told_ you—“ 

“After you've partnered up, make your way to the northern end of the forest. You will meet opposition along the way. Do not hesitate to destroy everything in your path, or you _will_ die. You will be monitored and graded through the duration of your initiation, but our instructors will not intervene.” Ozpin’s eyes glinted silver in the rosy-gold light, his face solemn, lined. “You will find an abandoned temple at the end of the path containing several relics. Each pair must choose one and return to the top of the cliff. You will guard that item, as well as your standing, and we will grade you appropriately. Are there any questions?” 

Jaune looked more than a little green, and Yang averted her eyes. “Yeah, um, sir?

“Good!” A snort from Ruby. “Now, take your positions.” 

Yang lowered herself in a crouch, brandishing her fists and tensing. Down the line, Weiss had already been vaulted into the air, ice shards streaming out behind her as circles like ice-clockwork spiraled away in front of her. And more followed: there went Blake, arcing gracefully into the air like a bird, and then the dark-haired boy, flipping end over end, and then his ginger-haired companion, shouting in breathlessly wild laughter— 

The tile clicked beneath her. Yang winked at Ruby to conceal her own tension, slipped on a pair of aviators, and then she was up and away and _flying_. 

It felt like her stomach had dropped out, and a loud shout of joy and shock tore its way from her throat as the wind buoyed her up and she sailed through the air, soaring to new heights; a blast of fire from her gauntlets lent her speed and she spun midair, laughing aloud. _Far, far away,_ she thought, wanting to burst past everyone, to be the best. The song of the wind twinkled in her airs, running icy fingers through her hair as she began to fall, plummeting. 

With a few shots from her gauntlets, she hit the ground of the forest in a roll, tumbling over before springing to her feet and taking off in a dash.   


* * *

 

Yang stooped under the bobbing claw of a tree branch; pleasant vistas rolled out around her through the narrow trees. A silvery, babbling creek flanked by banks of violets glinted quicksilver through the reeds; windy dells of emerald grass sloped away, and sunlight puddled in gold patches all around her. It was hard to reconcile the image of this picturesque forest with the Grimm she knew savaged it, but her attention quickly sharpened as she heard a low howl in the distance that broke off abruptly, replaced by the sound of gunshots. 

_Partner. Right, gotta find a partner— gotta find Ruby._ She cocked the gauntlets on her wrist and quickened her pace, ducking through low shrubs and thorns. 

The bushes up ahead rustled.

“Ruby, is that you?” she called cautiously, tentatively, fists barring in front of her. She pushed the crossbeams of branches aside, and two seething scarlet eyes blazed back at her. So, not Ruby, then— 

“Nope!” she said decisively as the Ursa bellowed, before she leaped and rolled to the side, her fighting blood up. There were two of them— _for Vale’s sake, this is just great_ , she thought, mentally rolling her eyes and spurring Ember Celica into action. 

With a rasping roar of gaping, sharp teeth, the first Grimm sprang at her, its clawed paws swiping out. She thrust herself off the ground with a puff of crackling leaves and landed on the boned head, driving her fists into the mass of flesh and fur and bone with cracking force as the quick, thrumming energy of the fight sang in her blood. As the Grimm reared back to toss her off, she spun off and away into the air, swift as a bird, and landed lightly on the ground. 

“You wouldn’t have happened to have seen a girl in a red hood, would you?” she muttered dryly, swiping forward and slamming her fist into the unprotected belly of the Grimm. 

A low laugh of adrenaline tore its way from her throat as the Ursa swung its head around in confusion. “Geez,” she said, laughter in her voice, “you two couldn’t take—“ she broke off as a clump of her hair lazily floated to the ground, and her smile dropped. _Oh, hell no. No one messes with the hair._

“You _monsters!”_ she spat in a snarl, fire licking up her hair in tongues of flame before she blasted towards the Ursa, decimating it until it lay in a stinking heap of cooling black fur. The other Ursa gazed at her with menacing red eyes. 

For some reason, the picture of Summer Rose’s twinkling eyes burned in her mind. “What,” she snarled out at the Grimm. “You want some too?” 

But before it could lurch at her, it let out a howling groan before it teetered and toppled to the ground. Yang’s brow furrowed in confusion, a multitude of bizarre thoughts flitting through her mind— Had it fainted? Fallen asleep? Committed Grimm suicide?— before she saw the lithe figure that grinned like a cat from the arched back of the Grimm’s corpse, her jarring gold eyes locked on Yang with a startling intensity. She pulled an onyx whip back, coiling through the air and landing in her palm with a _schnick._ A crooked smile, one that arched higher at one side of her mouth than the other, was on her face as she flipped off the Ursa and landed on the ground. 

Blake. 

Surprisingly, Yang found herself biting back a grin as well; even if she wasn’t Ruby, she was better than some of the other unsavoury characters at this academy, certainly? She seemed all right. Not exactly _friendly,_ but not as bad as some stranger. 

“I could have taken him.” 

Blake sheathed her weapon and strode around the already-evaporating corpse, which was clouding up in a putrid, fetid black cloud. “We’d better get a move on. Where there’s one Ursa, there’s more, and we must get a relic.” She stopped beside Yang and her eyes gleamed in the sunlight, though they weren’t belligerent. “ _Partner.”_

“Hilarious,” Yang grumbled, following as Blake laughed—like the wind rustling fluidly through the trees— and walked on. 

They fell into step together, in a contemplative, envisaging sort of silence. Yang mentally ran over the sparse group of initiates in her mind: there was her sister, Weiss, Pyrrha, Jaune, the ginger haired girl and her violet-eyed companion, and the other group of thugs: Cardin, Russell, Dove, and Sky. So Blake really _was_ one of the only good options. 

“So this initiation,” Yang said, cautiously attempting at a conversation. “Pretty crazy, huh?”

Blake’s shoulders rolled dismissively in nonchalance. “This forest is overrun with Grimm, yes, but it’s child’s play to what we’ll be facing later on, I’m sure. I think it’s wise the way people are paired. No trickery in it, really.” The ghost of a smile tugged her lips as she glanced at Yang. “Disappointed I’m not your sister?” 

“A little bit,” she said honestly, “but I could have gotten worse.” 

“What an honor, that is.” Blake paused as the trees begin to thin out and the ground started to curve upward. The way she leaned forward slightly reminded Yang of a cat pricking up its ears at a distant noise. “There’s a cliff up ahead.” 

The trees gradually dwindled entirely, giving way to open sky and rushing wind. A valley swept away in front of them, a low jagged slope falling away under their feet. In the center of the valley, an abandoned temple— the floor of it was crafted of cobblestones, veined in darker silver, cracked and weed-choked— reared towards the sky. Crumbling balustrades circled the construction, and a wreath of shrines wrapped around the perimeter. On each altar, a glimmering gold or black object rested. _Gold and black,_ Yang thought with a bemused smile, glancing from her own golden-themed attire to Blake’s darker hues. 

“Think this is it?” 

Blake shot her a look, silent, before stepping forward and picking her way down the slope. Stones clattered down with showers of dirt as Yang followed. 

Blake’s impassive expression gave way to a flicker of confusion as they split to walk to the shrines. The air hung with an eerie silence. “Are these… chess pieces?” 

“Looks like it,” Yang shrugged, gently touching the cold black metal of a rook before moving onto the golden glimmer of another piece. Blake frowned. Yang silently kept tally. _Frown: 3, Smile: 0._  

“Well, we should pick one.” 

Yang grabbed the one that resembled a horse and brandished it with a flourish. “How ‘bout a cute a little pony?” 

Blake’s voice was amused. _So she’s not cold through, then._ “Sure.” 

They both strode to the heart of the temple, where sunlight struck down fiercely. Yang eyed the chess piece in her hand with bemusement. “That wasn’t too hard.” _Ozpin made it sound formidable. Like we were going to be savaged every step of the way._

Blake shrugged again, a self deprecating look on her face. “It’s not like this place is very difficult to find, though.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but she’d hardly gotten the words out when a scream shivered through the air, a shrill yowl of unadulterated terror.

“Someone’s in trouble!”Yang’s head snapped away as she stared between the spars of branches in the forest, which suddenly seemed menacing, the shadows alive with _things,_ the silence a cold guise that lurked with maliciousness. “Blake— did you hear that?” 

Her partner didn’t respond; she was staring around the fallen temple with a look of thinly-disguised unease, a disconcerted expression of her face, before she turned her face to the sky. Yang swung back around, craning to hear; she distantly could make out more faint shrieks and— a sound like enormous jaws snapping together. 

“ _Blake,”_ Yang repeated, urgent, “what should we—?”

Suddenly Blake’s eyes widened, and she sprang forward and seized her by the shoulders, hauling her back. “ _Watch out_!” 

Yang jerked and spun away from her crushing grasp. “ _What?_ ” 

A shaking crash sounded overhead, followed by a whistling screech; Yang snapped her gaze upwards and saw an enormous Nevermore wheeling like a black cloud against the azure sky. A _thing_ was falling from it, a long limbed thing with a scarlet banner streaming out behind it— 

“Is that your _sister?”_ The disbelief was plain in Blake’s tone. 

“What the _hell…”_ Yang stepped forward and narrowed her eyes at the Nevermore. A white speck was dangling from its talons, a distant screech coming from it. 

And yet— 

Ruby was tumbling end over end towards them, her scythe screaming through the air. As Yang drew breath to shout, however, a blond streak cannoned out from the trees and careened into Ruby, flinging them both into the boughs of the forest. 

“Did your sister just fall from the sky?” Blake was muttering profane epithets as she drew her own weapon.

Yang shot her a look of pure disbelief. “I’m fairly certain that I’m not hallucinating. But, you know, I’ve seen crazier, so— did that just happen?” 

As Blake’s eyebrows arched in light disdain, a gravelly roar split the wavering silence, and a bloody Ursa stumbled into the clearing before collapsing, dead; Yang’s fingers curled around her gauntlets, but two initiates were on the spiny, ridged back of the Grimm’s corpse. Her breath hissed out between her teeth as she saw the violet-eyed boy, panting profusely, and the ginger-haired girl giggling and skipping along the beast’s slack head. 

“Nora,” he groaned, slumping over the prone corpse and clicking his weapons away. “Please, don’t ever do that again.” 

“Did they—just ride in on an Ursa?” Blake asked, eyebrows raised. 

Yang tore her gaze away— boiling with disbelief that was cloying into frustration— as a loud, shrill howl echoed through the trees. The dark form of a Death Stalker exploded into the clearing, clicking loudly in anger; a red streak was tearing away from it, glinting gold in the sunlight, red hair streaming out behind her— 

“Did she just run here with a Death Stalker on her heels?” 

Yang gave her a dry look. “Do feel free to exercise a sense of brevity anytime soon, and please, _cut it out,”_ she said, just as the foliage above them crackled and a dark shape sprang down. 

“ _Yang!”_

“Ruby?” Yang moved forward. “I couldn’t find you—“

“Nora!” Yang reeled back as the ginger initiate burst up between them, a golden rook clutched in her palms, and her jaw ground in frustration. Blake was eyeing Yang closely, watching her amusedly like a sleek cat, lounging back upon a shrine; somehow the sight of her collected reserve cooled the flame of anger sparking feebly in Yang’s chest. Yang rolled her eyes at her partner before turning back to the advancing Death Stalker, and the pandemonium unfolding before them. 

A cry echoed above them, where the Nevermore still wheeled darkly; Yang cocked Ember Celica and glared at the Grimm. “Is that an _initiate_ on there?” she asked, frowning. Ruby looked sheepish, before calling loudly upward. 

“I _said_ jump!” 

Blake made a dry noise in the back of her throat. “She’s going to fall.” 

Ruby sounded anxious. “She’ll be fine.” 

The violet-eyed boy’s face was tilted upward, concern warring with somberness on his face. “She’s falling.” 

Yang turned back, and started as she saw Blake had silently drifted over to the group while she’d been distracted. “What should we do?” 

Blake’s amber eyes were rapidly flicking across the sky, a small frown creasing her brow. “Nothing. See?” 

Sure enough, Weiss had landed— was that a prone figure under her?— and was getting up, striding with imperious anger in her step towards them. “I told you that was a _terrible_ idea; you can’t even _fight_ the Grimm,” she snarled, tone harsh with asperity, and Yang raised an eyebrow— fate, then, that she and Ruby were partners?

Ruby braced her scythe against her shoulder, eyes hard and glittering, accentuated with a petulant look; her determination was palpable. “I can fight it,” she said, voice even, devoid of anger, her eyes flickering something very like flame— before she shot towards the shrieking Grimm. 

“Ruby, _no!”_ Yang cried, springing after her as she glanced off the side of the Death Stalker’s alabaster carapace, stunned. Ruby blanched, backing away. 

“I’m fine!” she called, quavering, towards the ragtag group, Crescent Rose folding up on itself. “Totally fine—“

Just then, the Nevermore cawed loudly, and black feathers rained down, bristling, impaling themselves all around Ruby; they made a sharp black forest, jutting like knives, and Yang dived forward as Ruby started running.  

“Ruby!” she howled. “Get out of there!” 

“I’m trying!” Ruby ground out through clenched teeth, caught under the spear of one of the feathers. Yang’s hands tightened on the razor-edged barbs as the Death Stalker’s bristling golden barb whistled towards her— 

And a white streak barreled past Yang, careening through the feathers; Yang caught a glimpse of Weiss, a shining glyph flowering from her outstretched palm, before the barb was frozen mid-air by a wall of sheer, shining ice. 

Yang slumped back against the feather in relief, a low breath escaping her in a hissed exhale as she saw Ruby— balking, but she was unharmed— the golden stinger poised above her head. 

Inexplicably, Yang remember the small, frail form of her adoptive mother, and her stomach clenched. _She went the same way,_ Yang thought, _unafraid._

As she and Weiss traipsed back, Yang engulfed her in a crushing hug and tousled her hair roughly. “You idiot, I thought you were gonna get _hurt,_ why would you attack it like that—“ 

_“_ I’m _fine,_ geez, _”_ Ruby placated her, words trite, but a shrieking scream sliced the air, and Yang looked up to see the Nevermore still flying above. “We need to go. That Grimm isn’t gonna stay trapped forever.” 

As they reached the temple, Ruby broke away to retrieve a chess piece. The group of eight— diverse, Yang supposed— all looked at each other before the dark haired boy spoke. 

“It’s time we left.” 

“Our objective is right in front of us,” Weiss said quietly, sheathing her rapier, which shone like a fork of silvery flame. “There’s no point fighting the Grimm.” 

“She’s right.” Ruby returned to the group, smiling, though her eyes were worried. “Let’s go.” 

Yang jogged a few paces forward across the burnt ground, pausing as Ruby pulled to the front of the eight, astride a boulder that protruded like a bulwark from the side of the hill. Her hair swirled out behind her, eyes clear and jaw set, head held high as the others streamed past her. She looked like the faded scraps of memory of Summer Rose, of— Yang frowned a moment— the barest whisper of a ghost of a pale, round face like the moon— before it was gone. She shook her head. 

Blake jogged up, pulled around and blinked at her. “What is it?” 

Yang looked at her partner, _really_ looked at her— she’d be with her for the next four years, after all, didn’t that credit something?— and instantly sought out three things: the way she moved was gracefully lithe and controlled, a smooth, supple saunter; it spoke of treading lightly, the way her eyes sought out around her coolly. She looked like the type of person who never really had a guileless disposition— her eyes danced like a cat’s, with a slitted glow— and the type that one shouldn’t mess with, though Yang didn’t say so. Her voice had a strange, rasping lilt to it, but a smile tugged her mouth as Yang smiled, said “Nothing,” and dashed past her, up the scree-filled slope. 

 

 Blake paused to smiled bemusedly before she tore away after her like a fine drift of ash blown away, like a leaf whipped past on the breeze. 

 

 


	4. Chapter III - Red Like Roses

 

**_Blake_ **

As they streaked up the slope, Nora’s weapon firing manically behind them, Blake could feel her blood singing in her veins, the cold scent of the sea touching the air, and she was  _alive._

She spun backward with Ren and shot off a round at the Death Stalker as Weiss pulled Nora out of harm’s way, blood still singing. In the midst of a fight, there were no distractions. There was only her, precise measures, and the brightness of colors fracturing in prism shards of light as she fought, as she’d been born to. 

She was barely surprised to find herself and Ren gradually driven back to the bridge; she cast her eyes wildly around as the Death Stalker flailed out and threw her backward with a grunt. Then there was the sound of a distant rushing— a cry of alarm— shattering stone— and she swore colorfully as she saw the bridge had been demolished by the Nevermore flying through it. As she was distracted, Nora crashed into her. She only had time to let out a single cry of alarm before empty air yawned open beneath her. 

She fell spinning, skimming the air like a plummeting star; she streaked through the broken battlements and crenellations, and then she was arcing upward like a fragment of shadow, so swift that wind screamed in her ears and stung her cheeks with a lashing iciness. Blake could only discern the darkness of the Nevermore rushing above her before she grunted with exertion and shot forward, boots slamming into the bony forehead of the Grimm. She only had time to land in a few slashing blows as she skidded downward— the monster seemed impervious to her strikes— and she flung herself off of it just before it wheeled around and rocketed downward, in what would surely have caused her to go plunging to a lethal embrace with the ground. She sailed upward, finding ground next to her partner. Blake braced her feet against the parapet, flicking her gaze down to the balustrade where Weiss and Ruby crouched, panting in frustration. 

 

“It’s tougher than it looks!” she shouted, feeling a stitch in her side as she let Gambol Shroud wind back into her waiting palm. Yang’s eyes flashed. They really were an odd flaw of a color, Blake noticed, a light shade of purple, not unlike the aura that her own weapon shone with.  

 

“Then let’s hit it with everything we’ve got,” Yang spat, eyes narrowing. She threw her fists to her side, golden gauntlets glinting dully as a row of red shells crumbled away and new ammo took their place. 

 

The Nevermore screamed as they sent snaking beams of light soaring and smashing against it. As it wheeled around and set a dulled red glare on their precarious standing, Yang sprang from the rampart and onto the hooked beak, bashing her fist into the gaping gullet that shrieked at her. 

 

“None of this is working,” Weiss growled as she flipped up onto the battlement beside them. Ruby had followed, and she didn’t look angry; her eyes gleamed as the Nevermore circled again. Down below, on the narrow bridge, the other four seemed to be holding their own against the Death Stalker, but they would have to hurry. 

 

“I have a plan. Cover me!” 

 

Ruby swung off the crenellation and flipped end over end to the cracked stone parapets below, beckoning to Blake and Yang as she did so. She gestured to the two columns of stone that stabbed at the sky, and then she looked at the curling length of Gambol Shroud. “Do you think if we got a strong enough launch from your weapon— like, as some sort of vault— with Weiss’s glyphs going up the cliff….?” 

 

Blake understood her plan as she glanced back at the cliffside, the small crags and clots and holds that allowed for a sheer sprint up the side. “You want to take off its head. That would kill it. It’s a good idea.” 

 

“Let’s do it, then,” Yang said, before turning and scaling the the stone pillar. She held out a hand for the other end of Gambol Shroud as Blake hurled it across the rushing void, and it strained taut between them, a single dark thread quivering like a gaunt mark in the wind. Weiss had done nothing more than irritate the Nevermore by opening up inconsequential gashes in its body, and it flew up above the ruins of the towers. It perched, roosting on the cliffside, letting out a fearsome, caterwauling shriek that made the air tremble; Weiss backflipped upward and shot out a blast of ice, gluing it to the cliff.  

 

Blake’s arms tautened as her side of the slingshot strained from Ruby’s scythe bearing down upon it, and she clung all the tighter as a scroll of icy glyphs shot up the cliffs— the strain on the rope increased— her nails stung crescents in her palms as she gripped tighter— and then she almost fell backward as Ruby shot off, falling through the air for the second time in the day. Blake watched, mesmerized, as all in blur of action, she shot to the clifftop, and, with a groaning pop, the Grimm’s head severed and the body scaffolded down, down, down. The dark shadow was formidable, tumbling down the cliff with showers of dirt. 

 

Silence washed out over the ruins as the wind whistled tunelessly. Blake looked over to Yang, who was watching the top of the cliffs with a surprised look on her face. 

 

In the air, red roses swirled, unfettered, shining like sparks of blood in the dawning sun. 

* * *

 

“Blake Belladonna. Ruby Rose. Weiss Schnee. Yang Xiao Long. The four of you retrieved the white knight pieces.” Ozpin’s gaze roved over the four of them. “From this day forward, you will work together as Team _RWBY,_ led by Ruby Rose.” 

Blake folded her hands in front of her, the picture of diplomacy, allowing a quick glance to the side: Ruby and Weiss’s faces were both rendered pale with shock— but for for very different reasons. As she watched, the shock on Weiss’s face darkened to an acerbic belligerence— one that contrasted her usual austere disposition—before smoothing to a hard blankness; Ruby, evidently, didn’t see it, as Yang crushed her in a (probably deadly) hug. 

“Looks like things are shaping up to be an… interesting year.” 

The auditorium broke into chatter as Ozpin turned and vanished behind the doors that propped open into the dais. Blake flicked an ear irritably, stirring her bow, before following behind her new team as they filed out into the late summer sunshine. She could have gotten worse, and her team seemed fine, and that— that was okay with her. 

The trees were already turning from vibrant plumes of emerald to dark, rich gold, and Blake breathed in. The air was warm, with the barest hint of a briskness that would precede autumn. Sharp rays of bloody, sunset light speared down, dazzling off the quadrants of water that rippled around the courtyard; spires framed the sky, and she longed to explore them further. But she kept pace with her team, contenting herself with discreetly taking in the structures around her. An impressive statue of Huntsmen and Huntresses slaying an Ursai pair. The intricate walls of the academy. Windows that glanced with bright light, sparking back like diamonds of fire. Towering gates. A path slanting away from the courtyard. It was by far more awe-inspiring than the corrugated warehouses and forests of her youth— she shuddered as she remembered Ayran’s calculating leer. 

_The White Fang can’t find me here,_ she told herself, and she tilted her head back to let the flaming sunset colors wash over her as they entered the west side of Beacon, where the dorms resided. 

Within, the walls were paneled in a golden-honey varnish of wood, and she blinked to focus— CRDL took a spiraling staircase, JNPR took a hall to the right, and her own team— Yang and Ruby were fooling around at the front, and Weiss was still giving Ruby an implicitly graceless look— entered a plain dorm. The scent of jasmine poured through drawn curtains, four beds lined out neatly, and Yang promptly flopped out on the farthest one. 

Ruby stared around the room with a look of incredulity and marvel. “I can’t believe we’re really here.” She turned around, eyes wide as she soaked in the surroundings. “It’s amazing.” 

“You had better get used to it quickly,” Weiss said, her voice soft as a spider’s fur, venomous frost edging her tone. “Extolling the vaunted-wonders of Beacon isn’t the job of a leader.” 

Ruby shot her a bemused look, and Yang sat up and grinned wickedly at Weiss.“ _Someone’s_ salty. What’s it to you, princess? Heiress?” 

Weiss’s eyes flashed before she stalked to the farthest bed, and threw herself down atop the crisped covers. “I’m going to sleep now, thank you. 

Blake sat gingerly on the edge of the bed nearest her partner. She thought Weiss’s priggish attitude was arbitrary— after all, having hubris and assuming that she would be appointed leader of the team, just because she was older, wasn’t that folly in itself?— but then again, wasn’t she herself predisposed to dislike any Schnee? Didn’t that make her just as bad? 

Speculating on it as she laid back, eyes on the shimmering lattice of dimming light that wavered across the ceiling, she fell asleep to tangled nightmares of blurred train lights and screams. 

 


	5. Chapter IV - These Four Kingdoms

 

**_Yang_ **

“…And to commemorate those fallen in the Remnant War, the Councils of the World proposed a single idea: a paramount event of prestige, a— a mixing, as it were, of world-wide culture, to take place, moving with the light of the Kingdoms, to represent our unity as one whole. Can anyone tell me the name of this event, and where it is set to take place?” 

Yang slouched back in her seat and raised her hand, already feeling dully bored. _Who would have thought Beacon matched right up to Signal in the boredom factor, huh?_ “It’s the Vytal Festival. It’s in Vale this year.” 

“Precisely, precisely! Thank you, Miss Long. And can anyone tell me—“ 

Yang tuned out Professor Oobleck’s chattering lecture and nudged Blake, who was sporting the same glazed look of every kid that passed through this room. “You bored, too?”

Blake didn’t turn to look at her, but a slight smile curled the corner of her mouth. “How could anyone get bored in here?” she murmured drily, hushed, pulling at the collar of her uniform.“It’s such an _interesting_ class about these four kingdoms of ours.” She wasn’t taking diligently taking notes, as Yang had assumed— which relieved her; her partner wasn’t a _total_ washout, then— but drawing a lovely scene of a forest at dusk, a whirring freight car winding along the foremost of the page. 

Folding her arms above her head, she leaned back against the plush and wood paneling of the rows. Oobleck had darted back to the lectern that was on the podium of the room, and was expounding something about combat tactics or cobalt taffy, she wasn’t sure. His chatter all blended together. “I’m gonna conk out, Blake. I can _feel_ my boredom growing.”

“Like your sense of bad humor?”

“No,” she said grudgingly, “like a poisonous tumor.” 

“So you’re essentially implying that this class is a disease.” Blake looked up with a crooked grin. “I’m inclined to agree.” Her eyes darted past Yang, and narrowed. “Looks like trouble up in their alley.” 

Yang leaned forward slightly, and turned her head, balancing on her elbows, and saw what Blake was referring to. Weiss was glaring daggers at Ruby, and Yang was surprised her sister wasn’t smoking from the anger in her eyes. 

“She’s not finding any solace from the fact,” Blake muttered, “that we’re team RWBY, and not team WYRB.” 

“What, team _wirb?_ It doesn’t really roll off the tongue like _RWBY_ does.” Amused for a heartbeat, Yang rocked back in her seat. “Well, she can get the ants out of her pants, I say—“ 

“Ahem,” Oobleck paused his lecture, eyebrows raised in their direction. Yang and Blake quickly shut up, jaws snapping shut like a rubber band springing back into place, and he continued. 

Yang clocked in the thirtieth minute of the class with her seventh eye-roll. 

* * *

 

“Oddball says—“ 

“Do not call me that again, or I _will_ melt Crescent Rose into an anatomically incorrect dick.” 

“ _Yang_ says,” Ruby continued without missing a beat, “that we have class with Professor Port next.”

“He’s the pudgy one with facial hair that we’re all mentally shaving instead of listening to his great recounts of how he heroically slew a Grimm.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Blake was reading, again; her vast mini-library dwarfed the bookshelves that were filled with a meager, sparse collection of books that the rest of the team had. Upon cajoling Blake to at least dwindle the large populous of books she owned, she had, instead, added another bookshelf and meticulously organized it, which the team had acquiesced without comment. “Don’t expect to acquire a great deal of knowledge there.” 

“We should still pay full attention,” Weiss said stiffly. “It’s illicit to ignore the teacher.” 

“Lighten up, Salty,” Yang said with a gaping yawn. 

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?” 

_Because you’re being an asshat to my little sister,_ Yang thought mutinously, tugging at the jerkin of leather emblazoned with a ball of flame that wrapped around her thigh. She didn’t voice the thought. “We should go. I heard he makes you suffer through a book he wrote about his heroic exploits if you’re late to class.” 

“What a terrifying prospect,” Ruby said, looking aghast, before she bounced up and sheathed Crescent Rose through a belt on her back, ammo jingling. “Oddball—“ 

“ _Ruby,_ I swear—“ 

Ruby laughed before skipping off through the door. As it swung wide around her, Yang could see the barest hint of a snarl fixated on Weiss’s face, and she exchanged a glance with her partner. 

“There’ll be trouble with them soon,” Blake said, following her gaze. “Mark my words.” 

“I can see that. I just wish she wouldn’t be so— _furious_ about it, you know? Ruby’s only fifteen; she’ll _idolize_ her older partner, and if she’s going to go around and make snide comments about Ruby not being _good_ enough or something—“ 

“She got accepted into Beacon. I think that’s plenty reassurance that she’s capable, Yang. Weiss is just angry because she’s a Schnee. They’re— a prideful bloodline.” 

“That’s putting it lightly.” Yang glanced at her partner; her face was entirely, carefully blank, all sharp and unforgiving like an angel’s statue. _A team I’ve got nothing in common with, a partner I can’t synchronize to, and now someone out to get my sister._ _What a year this is going to be,_ she thought, surly, before following the rest of her team— still team RWBY, at least, not team WYRB— the door. 

Later on, as she crouched, chest heaving as she panted, in the training room. Her feet were bare, and the punching bag, dark with indentions where her fists had blown into it, swayed on its braided rope. Sweat rolled down her skin, making her hair stick to her neck. Her shirt clung to her and she shook her head, blood thundering in her ears. She had foregone Ember Celica to help with this, and her hands were bruised and aching, a red flush blossoming across her jutted knuckles. Her semblance hadn’t kicked in, and it didn’t do so until her Aura lowered. For now, she was a regular combatant.

She drew her arm back experimentally before driving it into the punching bag with a grunt. With a satisfying thwack, the hit connected. The bag leaped back from her, jerking around on the rope, and she rolled her shoulders. 

“I would hate to get in your way during a fight.”  

Yang narrowed her eyes, raising her eyes up to the rafters. Blake was sitting on the edge— how on earth had she climbed up there without Yang noticing her arrival?—feet dangling over, and she looked coolly amused. She lopped Gambol Shroud around the beams and dropped down, stopping just short of the floor as she swung around gracefully on her own weapon, like it was a child’s swing, and not a deadly combo of guns and swords. 

She stuck out a foot and kicked off the wall, spinning lazily in the air. “Hey,” Yang said by way of greeting, and turned away, attacking the punching bag with renewed vigor. _One, two, three!_ She grunted and tried a whirling roundhouse kick. It sent her staggering away, a jolt lancing up her leg. 

“Kicking is not your strong suit,” Blake pointed out, idly swinging like a pendulum.  

Yang gulped in a breath, tired, and she faced Blake with pursed lips. “Really, what gave it away?“

Blake’s brow furrowed, flummoxed, and Yang sighed. “It was a joke.” 

Blake didn’t comment, but she pushed herself off the wall again and twisted around to look at Yang. “I saw that your sister and Weiss seemed to have reconciled their differences.” 

“So she’s _not_ trying to go all Medusa-turn-you-to-stone-with-a-glare on Ruby anymore? We’re good as team RWBY and not team WYRB?”  

Blake’s lips twitched, as if Yang had startled a smile from her. “I think we’re safe for now. They probably found middle ground.” Her partner slid from the loops of darkness and pulled Gambol Shroud into her palm with a twangy _crack._ Yang frowned at it. “What do you even call that weapon?” 

Blake didn’t smile, but her eyes glinted, two chips of frozen fire. “A variant ballistic chain scythe.”

“Gee, _that’s_ a mouthful. How about ‘swingy swingy sword-gun?’ What’s it even do?” 

“Ridiculous,” her partner murmured, before she traced the silvery-gray pattern of flame stamped on cartridge. “I’ve had it for so long,” she murmured, eyes studying it. “It’s an extension of myself. I won’t divulge everything it’s capable of.” There was a wary nuance to her voice. 

“Okay.” Yang shrugged, a little stung, and turned, rubbing her hands with leather before sending punches to the stilled punching bag. It jerked round, her fists finding steady rhythm as they alternated, smacking on the worn cloth. Blake watched her for a few moments before she dashed her weapon to the ceiling with a single sharp motion. It arced upward, the cleaver end of the gun sinking into the rafters— solid beams of oak, whorled and darkened with age— and Blake flipped upward onto the beams again. 

“Making your exit, huh?” Yang called up into the shadows, but without a trace, her partner had been swallowed up in darkness, leaving her alone in the empty training room once more. 

 


	6. Chapter V - The Shadows of Forgotten Scars

 

**_Blake_ **

 

_When she fell asleep that night, the dreams came._

_She could see a lattice of moonlight across the sky, stars caught in the spaces of darkness. Webs of silver connected them into images. They were different than the stars she knew, constellations of strange figures: a girl running with her bow drawn, a snake curling with a single bright star shimmering for an eye, a deer with stars caught in its antlers._

_As she watched, the wind singing around her, grass stroking at her ankles, the stars shimmered and swirled, silver dust scattering in a curtain of flame._

_And they descended from the heavens._

_They stalked down in a swirling helix of white fire, blindingly bright. Blake, even in the dream, cowered back, eyes narrowed against the glare of white and the streaming of the wind that lashed her face. They came down in strange figures, their eyes aglow, whipped by the howling wind. They carried the scents of frost and fire and all the wild places of the night, unrelieved by any light._

_The first figure who stepped forward left sparks of light flickering up from the charred grass where she stepped. Her eyes were two chips of white fire, her skin a moving galaxy of supernovas. It was impossible to look at her and pinpoint any singular detail; she was a body of intangible light._

_She didn’t speak, the strange entity of stars, but her hand reached out and formed a cross above Blake’s head, like an ancient ritual. A searing pain shot through Blake, right between her eyes, and she collapsed._

_As darkness rose to claim her, the dream changed._

_She was crouching on a spar of wood and a fire raged below her, the flames leaping and crackling hungrily as they devoured the land around her in a frenzy. Pillars of thick black smoke curled off the fire all around her. A black mushroom cloud of molten fire was roiling up in the distance, rippling with flames as smoke billowed out, and metal melted around her in silvery, glowing hot pools._

_A howl of madness that was not her own tore furiously from her mouth, harsh from the acrid smoke, and then she was standing as the wood cracked warningly underneath her, and a blast of heat shoved her from behind. She swayed crazily before losing her balance and toppling, leaping into the flames with her arms outstretched before she curled around herself as the inferno swallowed her up—_

_And then cold wind blasted around her, drowning out everything but the sensation of her skin being lashed by a thousand little knives before she blinked her eyes open._

_Two wide gray eyes were blinking owlishly down at her, and as she choked in a breath, throat burning from the memory of smoke, relief filled them. It was Adam, two glossy horns elongating from his tousled mop of hair. “Oh, thank the gods,” he said. “You’re alive!”_

_She sat up, breathing in slowly, aching all over. Her skin felt like it was melting off, every bone smarting with pain. Her throat was raw as if it had been scrubbed with rocks, and she coughed, tasting blood as it sprayed from her like a salty-red mist._

_“What on earth happened to you, Lord Ayran? I found you away from the train wreckage, it was strewn everywhere. How did you survive that explosion?”_

_Her voice came out harsh, masculine, the sound of it rasping and grating, like a knife dragging against stone. Some part of Blake that knew it was a dream recoiled, recognizing her own voice as Ayran’s, the tyrannical leader of the White Fang. “Taurus. Where— am— I?”_

_“I brought you back to base. There are those who would speak with you.”_

_“Take me to them,” she snarled, before light exploded around her in a blinding white mist and she—_

woke, hands knotted in her sheets, gasping in air like she was drowning. A phantom pain flickered through her sternum before it vanished, leaving her wondering if she’d imagined it. 

Blake closed her eyes and sank back against the pillow. _Ayran._ It wasn’t the first time such vivid dreams had haunted her sleep, and she was inclined to think what she’d dreamed had been a real event. Sometimes, the dreams were merely dreams. Sometimes, they were omens, and she rolled over, still shivering. 

Outside, the dawn was staining the sky with burnished streaks of milky rose, the sun peeking in a sliver of molten fire above obscuring gray clouds. She closed her eyes, trying to prolong sleep, but the darkness only brought the image of Ayran’s glitteringly cold smile to her mind, and she gave up with a sigh. Roused, she sat up, and set about getting ready, but the dream didn’t fade like most: fleeting images darted behind her eyelids. A plume of fire, gray eyes, a girl of starlight. 

_Oh, thank the gods! You’re alive. I brought you back to base. There are those who would speak with you…_

She felt like ice was trickling down her back. Swallowing down her fears, she pulled her bow on, securing her ears, just as the splitting alarm of Ruby’s Scroll pealed through the air. 

_“Whasat!”_ Ruby yelped, bolting upright from her sleep before looking sheepish, reaching over, and banging the Scroll to turn off the jangling alarm. Blake stifled a small smile. 

After several hours of boring classes, Blake stifled a yawn, shoving papers in her duffel alongside her sketchbook. The cafeteria was abuzz with laughter and talk already— she rolled her eyes, traipsing in behind her team— and she sat down along the long, honey-paneled table. She was far from hungry, and she pulled out a book as she sat, trying to brush off the cold, sinking feeling in her chest. 

“Look alive, Blake.” Ruby prodded her from the side and grinned at her. “I know Professor Port’s classes are bad, but we don’t have him for another week.” 

Blake rolled her eyes and ducked her head away, but she forced on a smile to divert Ruby’s attentions elsewhere. She opened her book, tuning out the loud buzzing chatter of the cafeteria, but her thoughts restlessly pestered her as she read without absorbing it at all. Her ears twitched behind her bow as the din increased, and then she was roused from her book by a sharp cry of pain from ahead of her, and she nearly dropped it as she saw Velvet, a Faunus and a senior Huntress, surrounded by a smirking team CRDL. She tautened, stiffening as she took in the scene with a growing sense of rage. 

“That hurts— please, _stop_ ,” Velvet beseeched her tormentors. 

“I told you it was real,” he sneered, giving Velvet’s ears a violent yank. Blake's teeth ground together she yelped in pain. “What a _freak.”_

Anger pulsed hot under her skin, her blood roaring in her ears as she forced herself to remain seated. She longed to get up, to punch that leering smirk off his face, and it scared her how close she was to rising and probably doing something incredibly stupid, before he relented, and Velvet snapped back from him. 

“Atrocious,” Pyrrha growled angrily as she snapped her head back, her eyes dark with contempt, bringing her back to reality. “I can’t stand people like him.” 

Blake’s lip curled, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her book. "You're  _not_ the only one.” 

Yang sighed sorrowfully, propping her elbows on the table and gazing after Velvet as she fled, tears in her eyes, from the cafeteria. “It must be hard to be a Faunus.” 

Blake shot her a furtive look, eyes narrowed.Almost unconsciously, her ears quivered behind her bow, and she stared after the doors as they slammed shut. _You’re my partner, and I should trust you,_ she thought, aware that if she would trust anyone, it would be Yang, _but in this hardship I bear, you have no idea._

* * *

“And this is _prior_ to the Faunus Rights Revolution, more commonly known as the Faunus War. Humankind was quite adamant about centralizing Faunus population in Menagerie, a deserted area to the southern end of Remnant.” 

Blake tried to discreetly fix her bow, her eyes locked on the board with a sinking feeling. She remembered Ayran relaying impassioned speeches that made the whole of the White Fang eager to slaughter about this very subject. She had been a part of those cheering crowds with all of herself, once. It made her feel sick. 

"Now! While this must feel like ancient history to many of you, it is imperative to remember that these are relatively _recent_ events! Why, the repercussions of the uprising can still be seen to this day!" He raised his eyes to the rows of students, and Blake slowly leaned back in her seat, ears pricking. ”Now! Have any among you been subjugated or discriminated because of your Faunus heritage?"

_They can’t hate what they don’t know._ Blake sighed as she saw three other Faunus raise their hands, and boiling anger surged in her. _Adam was right, in some ways…_

"Dreadful,” Professor Oobleck said, “simply dreadful! Remember, students, it is _precisely_ this kind of ignorance that breeds violence! I mean, I mean, I mean—just look at what happened to the White Fang!” 

Blake’s hands slowly curled in on themselves, stinging her skin. 

“Now, which one of you young scholars can tell me what many theorize to be the turning point in the third year of the War?"

Blake let out a breath to calm herself— _you’re_ not _one of them anymore—_ and glanced over as Weiss’s hand shot in the air. “The battle at Fort Castle,” she answered promptly. 

Professor Oobleck bobbed his head in a sage nod.”Precisely! And, who can tell me the advantage the Faunus had over General Lagune's forces?"

Blake let her gaze rove the room as she tuned out. _I am not one of you,_ she thought as she blinked at her team, _and you don’t even suspect it, do you?_

A few rows below, Jaune let out a yelp of protest, and Oobleck shot over to him. 

"Mr. Arc! Finally contributing to class! This is excellent! Excellent! What is the answer?"

"Um… The answer... The advantage... of the Faunus… had over that guy's stuff…”—Blake rolled her eyes, sure that he was going to somehow spectacularly mess his answer up— “Uhh... Binoculars!"

She suppressed a smirk as laughter rang through the room, and Oobleck slunk away, shaking his head. “Very funny, Mr. Arc,” he said in a tone that conveyed he was anything but amused. “Cardin? Perhaps you’d care to share your answer?” 

Cardin straightened imperiously. “Well,” he sneered as Oobleck glared at him, “I know it’s a lot easier to train an animal than a soldier.” 

Blake growled. _Why don’t you take that book and shove it up your—_

“You’re not the most open-minded of individuals,” Pyrrha said, dislike in her tone, “are you, Cardin?” 

"What? You got a _problem_?"

She turned away, eyes still dark. “No,” she said fiercely, “I have the answer! It's night vision. Many Faunus are known to have nearly-perfect sight in the dark." 

Blake raised her voice, knowing she was doing the opposite of not drawing attention to herself. ”General Lagune was inexperienced, and made the mistake of trying to ambush the Faunus in their sleep. His massive army was outmatched, and the general was captured.” She turned to Cardin and gave him a look of utmost hatred and loathing, unable to resist one last jibe. ”Perhaps if he'd paid attention in class, he wouldn't have been remembered as _such_ a failure."

She heard Cardin snarl and the boards creaked as he shot up from his seat, eyes angry, but Professor Oobleck intervened. Blake turned away, biting her cheek. Adam’s slurred voice, inebriated, bounced through her head. 

_Why do you think I do this, Blake? Those humans… they don’t see us as equals. They never have… never will. It won’t change. Not yet, anyway. But by us? We’re different, Blake._

She stared out the windows, to the glitter of the seas beyond. _You were wrong._

 

* * *

 

Outside, the trees were turning to riots of color, green mixed with cloying browns and golds and ambers. Dead leaves skittered across the ground, tumbling into whirlpools before dissolving along the cobblestones. It was one of those pristine days of briskness, ones that made goosebumps race along her arms. Blake shifted her shoulders, Gambol Shroud sliding in its scabbard, and yawned. The icy air stung her face. 

 She was still seething inwardly, and her anger flared overtime she saw Cardin shove Jaune along the path, making him stumble into the dirt. She had no great love for either of them, and while she found Jaune to be the wheedling sort of annoying, he wasn’t malicious like Cardin. It could have been anyone that he was picking on, but the arrogance and hubris that the leader of Team CRDL possessed was like Ayran, eerily so— he was a symbol of every human who’d ever shoved the Faunus into the dirt and rose to prestige on the backs of their labor. She’d become assimilated with the humans, but it was a dark reminder that she would never truly be _one_ of them every time she saw his sneering expression. 

 Her nails curled against her palms as she fought back a colorful expletive to toss in his general direction, just loud enough for him to hear. She’d welcome a fight, after how pent up she was. Fighting had always been refuge from thoughts— an oblivion that was steeped with all the feelings she’d bottled away so long. 

 She forced the searing anger to smooth away from her face as her team trotted up around her, Ruby already chatting about how excited she was to see Forever Fall. 

 

Blake looked down to the small scar on her palm, a permanent reminder of the day she had cut a cable and drifted away from a life she’d once loved. Forever Fall was a terrible place to go; it only brought memories she would have preferred to discard. She was more than reluctant to go there.   

“Hey— what’s that?” 

 Blake jerked back as Yang reached out and lightly tapped the silver scar that tore jagged down her hand. Narrowing her eyes, trying to calculate her motive for asking, she finally muttered, “old fight injury.” 

“Ouch. Looks like it hurt.” 

“Yes,” she said bitterly, letting her hand fall with a tone that didn’t invite further inquiry. 

 

* * *

**_Yang_ **

“I’m excited. Are you excited?” 

Yang slouched over the railing, enjoying the sensation of the sheer heights they were topping— unlike Jaune, who was huddled in a corner near Cardin, looking miserable and sick— and smiled. “‘Course. I’ve been to Forever Fall, before, though. So have you.” 

The bridge of Ruby’s nose crinkled. “I _have_? When?” 

“You were still a baby then,” Yang said. “Summer Rose and Dad were on a mission, and Qrow couldn’t watch us, so we tagged along.” She frowned. “I don’t remember much. Just really colorful trees, the sound of train-cars, and it’s super-chilly there. Though I guess that’s obvious, being fall and all.” 

“It’s one of the top railways for the Schnee company trains,” Weiss said, looking— uneasy? A disconcerted look, unlike her usual coolly haughty disposition, was written all over her face. “Or, it used to be until…” She trailed off, her reflection shimmering as it blurred by in the translucent windows. 

“Until?” 

“The trains started to go missing,” she said quietly, looking out over the forests whipping by below them, and her eyes became guarded once more. Yang could tell that if she asked anymore questions, they’d be met with no answers, so she turned instead to her partner, who looked faintly ill. 

“Blake, aren’t _you_ excited?” 

Blake’s head jerked towards her, as if broken from a reverie. She was pale, gaunter than usual, her eyes even more uncertain than Weiss’s. “Sorry. What did you say?” 

“I don’t know why I asked,” she said dispassionately, before nudging her partner and joking, “I don’t think you know what _excited_ means, grumpy-gills.” 

Blake’s mouth thinned to a hard line, her eyes instantly becoming blank and cool, like a wall had slammed down over her face. “I’m aware of it, Yang. It’s just a trip, not a thrill-seeking outing.” 

 “Oh,” she said, discouraged. “Well, it’ll still be fun.” 

 A grunt. “I don’t know how a Grimm-infested forest is _fun_.”  

Yang gave a low hum of disapproval and scooted closer, worrying over the look on her partner’s face as she gazed down at the trees, slowly beginning to turn to warm colors as they approached Forever Fall: a transcending sorrow, a wrenching bitter anger. “Blake, are you okay?” 

She looked startled, knuckles whitening on the guardrails. The gray sky cast a dismal look on her face. “Of course.” 

_She’s lying,_ Yang thought, but she let it go, vowing to keep an eye on her partner. She wasn’t stupid; Taiyang had always been fond of the saying that some people were beautiful and yet they were broken inside, and she suspected Blake was one of them. _Though… well, it’s only been a few weeks; she’ll trust me later._

Soon, the massive airship had alighted on a plateau, sending reddened leaves spinning high in the air as the rudders juddered and whirred to a halt. The air was brisk and biting, the wind sounding a lonely song as it moved between trees that were just barely clinging to golden, red, flame colored leaves. The distant howls of Grimm reverberated through the air. That alone made the atmosphere far from friendly, but nothing was so bone-chillingly cold as the look on Blake’s face as she gazed down over the waving red sea of leaves, to an abandoned railroad that cut through the forest like a snaking steel river. 

Ruby appeared to have noticed the expression on Blake’s face— she frowned, gray eyes darkening like before a storm— but she didn’t comment, only raising an eyebrow at Yang. _She’s your partner. What’s with her?_

Yang shrugged, trying to rearrange her facial features in an expression that accurately conveyed ‘ _I have absolutely no idea’._

“Get out, little huntsman!” 

Yang’s head swiveled around as she heard a grating, sneering laugh, followed by a yelp and the sound of leaves and rocks being disturbed from the ground. She saw Cardin shove Jaune from the retracting steps of the airship, pushing him with so much force that we went flying, tumbling hard into the leaves, and then Blake stormed past her into the congregation, giving Cardin a glare of so much loathing that it made her shiver. 

“I hate people like him,” she said a low and hard voice. 

“I know,” Yang said reassuringly. “I do too.” She was surprised to feel a white-hot flare of anger as she saw Cardin’s partner shove Jaune, staggering, into a tree, but it was replaced by satisfaction as Goodwitch saw and started yelling at him. 

“ _— never_ seen such insubordination from students of Beacon. You should be ashamed. Do not let it happen again, boys!” 

“Of course, Professor Goodwitch,” Cardin said easily, before rolling his studded mace between his palms. “We’ll play nice.” He leered at Jaune, who gulped, turning a shade paler. 

Blake’s scowl deepened as the group headed further into the forest. She was quiet, walking like an automaton; the pensive and brooding silence reminded Yang of a volcano bubbling, about to erupt at any amount. Yang tried to pay heed to Goodwitch’s teachings on the flora and fauna of Forever Fall, but she kept side eyeing Blake, who looked around with an expression very like fear, or the memory of fear. She would look like a cat pricking up its ears at every distant noise before she relaxed again. 

Finally, they came to a stop at a shady glade, the trees haloing above like edges of flame. The air smelled sweet, the scent stirring a faint ghost of a memory in Yang: she could barely remember her father and Summer Rose laughing, the white flash of Summer’s cloak, before the memory fled. 

“ _Oh,”_ Ruby said, looking around as the leaves drifted down in a scarlet rain, settling in great dunes around the twisted, snaking roots of the trees. “It’s—“

“Cold?” Pyrrha suggested balefully, her eyes fixing on a point just past Ruby’s shoulder, on Jaune. Yang suppressed a smirk; so obliviousness went both ways, apparently. She winced as Pyrrha’s look hardened into cold anger as Cardin jeered and slammed Jaune off into the forest, sending him careening into a tree. 

“He’s atrocious,” she said vehemently, before whirling and stalking off to the remainder of her team. 

Yang soon lost track of time: it was a rotation of drilling sap out from the trees, standing guard, and yelling at Nora for getting rid of the sap as fast as they produced it. Weiss and Ruby had diverged to another tree, all the partners splitting up to produce the maximum, and so it was Blake and Yang that were singled on their own. 

Any attempts at small talk were met with unenthusiastic responses and Yang sensed a resounding _for the love of God, please stop talking_ from Blake’s end, so she frowned and quit chattering.

She tried not to be conscious of their proximity, though Blake seemed to jolt back every time their hands brushed, and the steely ice in her eyes… that never wavered. She seemed so on _edge,_ like a startled hare ready to explode into movement at the drop of a feather. However, she had a feeling that Blake wouldn’t welcome anymore inquiries on her mental state, at the moment, so Yang let it alone. 

_Crackle._

Yang’s head snapped up as a terrified wail, followed by a bloodcurdling roar, shook the earth, and then she was up on her feet as the brush rustled wildly and three forms tumbled through, leaving the fronds waving wildly as they charged through the clearing. 

“Ursa!” one cried, wailing like a baby, “Ursa!” 

_Coward,_ Yang thought bitterly, snatching him by the shirtfront as he tried to break past her. 

“Where?” she demanded, shaking him roughly, and he gulped, deciding answering her question was better than trying to get away. 

“Back there. It’s got Cardin!” 

Yang dropped him with a noise of disgust, and he turned and pelted away after the rest of his team. 

Ruby clambered up, all diplomacy. Pyrrha was right behind her, anxiety clear on her face. “Blake, Yang, go get Professor Goodwitch— Pyrrha, Weiss—?”

Weiss had stood, unsheathing Myrtenaster, and nodded shortly, and Pyrrha was shifting on her feet, looking like she was about to burst out of the clearing. 

“Come on,” Yang said, holding out a hand to help Blake up. After she did, Blake let out a startled noise, ripping her grasp from Yang’s before turning and streaking out of the clearing like a blur of shadow, and Yang took to her feet, pounding after her. 

After they had gotten Professor Goodwitch, and she had rocketed away in true stern-scorn fashion with a shimmer of violet-colored air, Yang stopped as Blake took another look at the rusted tracks of the railroad that rippled away into the trees. 

She was quiet, but it wasn’t her usual silence, nor a tense one like she was a volcano about to erupt. This was deep, dark, like she was buried under something.

Yang watched the way Blake stared after the undulating path of the railroad, her angular visage steely, expression deeply contemplating and inhumanely cold. Her jaw was jumping, a muscle flickering in her cheek, like she was holding back a diatribe she longed to hurl out to the still air. Ignoring her initial fear of asking Blake about her personal life, she took a chance after nervously drumming her fingers against the jerkin on her thigh. Taking a jaded, admittedly trite approach, Yang curled her fingers around her gauntlets, fingers pressing white. “So, er, this place… is it, you know, in your history?”

The question instantly made Blake stiffen and Yang wished she could take it back as she saw the look on her partner’s face. She swallowed hard, releasing a smoking breath that plumed out in translucent fingers in front of her face. “You don’t have to answer that, Blake, I’m sorry. I was just wondering— ”

 “Yes.” Blake’s eyes clouded, her fingers traveling down the length of Gambol Shroud. “It is. I don’t…” She faltered, eyes two chips of violet-amber, both pupils holding tiny images of the blurry scarlet forest that spiraled out around them, like they were the images struggling to get free of the amber. “I can’t talk about it.” 

Silence wedged between them. Yang watched her toy with her weapon, winding it into coils before it slackened, swiping circles along the barrels of the gun with the pads of her fingers. Then, with her jaw set, she started to sheathe it again, the metal clicking against metal. 

“I’m sorry,” Yang said after awhile, not being able to come up with anything else.

Blake’s shoulders, sharp in the dark and light of her outfit, like a painting done in all the right colors to confuse the eyes, rose and fell. “It’s not of any importance, Yang. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” It came out before Yang could stop it, honest and soft. She wasn’t _Bonded_ with her, of course— that took immense caring and trust, to do such a thing with someone else— but it was impossible to miss the slow pulse of sadness that radiated from Blake, not just now, but all the time. She expected Blake to lash out, to say something cruel to her, but she just gave a slow blink and swallowed before looking over at Yang. Her eyes were deep, a thousand thoughts coming to life and then dying again in the pools of light, the two orbs of gold striped with black.

And then she said in the air of someone surrendering and admitting defeat, “You’re right, Yang, I’m not,” and Yang was pretty sure that was _enormously_ out of character for her, to even admit vulnerability. She didn’t know Blake terribly well, but she wanted to— and now, she wanted to heal the sorrow on her face.

 “You’re gonna be okay. We’ll be okay. We’re at _Beacon Academy_ , remember? We’re the very best, on the best team.” Yang’s hand reached out, tapped her arm. Touching Blake felt nice; reminded Yang that she wasn’t all glass and ice and cold angles. It made her seem more human than she had ever been. Instead of stone, she had flesh and blood and veins and all of the things Yang did—lungs and a brain and parts of her that hurt, just like hers. Blake had a heart, and it was throbbing in her ribcage like a wounded bird. “I promise.”

To her surprise, Blake's eyes abruptly hardened. “Yang, don’t.” She ripped away from her and paced a few steps down the cliff, her eyes unreadable once more. “Don’t make promises. Don’t ever promise me anything.” Her voice was sharp as broken glass, cutting the space between them in half as she spun away from Yang. “They aren’t worth anything.”  

Yang stared at her back. Blake’s top was close, and she could still see the lines of her shoulderblades slicing across her back like jagged wings. She remained where she was. “They are with the right people.” 

“No they aren't!” She whirled, a thick link protruding in her neck. Her eyes were narrowed to dangerous slits— a supernova flaring into an eclipsed explosion. Her hands were curled into fists at her sides, walls slamming between them. “I have learned the hard way not to put my faith in people, let alone people like you— ”

“People like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” Yang tried to keep her voice calm, but unlike Ruby or Summer Rose, she had never been able to keep a level head.

“People that make promises they can’t possibly keep.” All the fight seemed to abruptly drain out of her. “A promise that everything will be okay. The real world doesn’t work like that, Yang, and it never will.” 

_Unfortunately, the real world isn’t like a fairy tale,_ Blake’s voice seemed to spin and echo tauntingly in her head. That seemed like it had occurred a lifetime ago. Who _had_ hurt Blake to make her this way, who had made her this tough, sharp-edged? She was a locked book with a strong spine; surely she, too, had a story to tell? 

“You’re right, it probably won’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t _try—_ to let someone help out every once in a while. I’ve been nothing but nice to you since we met—“  

Her eyes flashed. “I don’t need your kindness!” 

“Then why did you choose me in the forest, then, out of everyone, knowing how I was?” Yang straightened, too, and their eyes met on the same level. As Blake opened her mouth, Yang's eyes went to slits. "Don't even dare deny it. You _chose_ me, Blake. You could have run away long before making eye contact. But you didn't."

A sound caught in Blake’s throat, as if Yang's words had more effect on her than she could gauge. Her arms were shaking. She didn’t know, and she didn’t have to say it for Yang to understand that— she could see it in her eyes. Slowly, she approached Blake, as wary of her as she would be a venomous snake. Extending her hand, the golden gauntlets glimmering the same dull gold as the trees that wreathed the sky above them, Yang watched as Blake darted her gaze between her eyes, fingertips brushing the length of her arm.

“Okay, so maybe it was wrong of me to promise something I don’t know will come true. I get that. I get having bad stuff you just don’t want to talk about, and we’re partners, so even if you don’t trust me, that’s still okay, too. I won’t promise you things. But I do believe you’ll be okay if you give yourself time and stay optimistic about the situation.”

Blake’s expression was something between pity and sadness. “You really don’t know a lot about having demons, do you?”

Yang studied her. Blake was brimming over with shards of a broken heart and sorrow—and Yang didn’t understand that absolute misery that allowed for no hope, couldn’t place herself in Blake’s place. But she did know about demons, and so she nodded, “I do, actually.” _Summer Rose,_ her heart beat, while it thumped on the next, _Raven. My mother._ “But I know about _other_ things, too.” She tried to play it smoothly. “Like … like partnership, and helping people out, and trusting, and I want to do that with you, Blake. I want to be your friend. And I know—I know you act like you don’t want to have friends, but maybe, maybe I could be, you know? Maybe you could try to, you know, befriend and trust people more?”

 Blake gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and pressed her back to the tree behind her, her eyes guarded, like a castle with barricades and sealed drawbridges. “People can be very awful.”

“I know. People have hurt me, too. You forget that I have the same feelings you do.”

Blake stared at her in silence. Yang let her, because she could see thoughts circling through her eyes, and then she thought that maybe - maybe - even the most fortified castles could be busted, shaken wide open. 

 Finally, with a slight incline of her chin, Blake said, “Okay.”

“Okay …?”

“We’re friends, Yang.”

Yang beamed. Without thinking much about it, she spread her arms. Had it been Ruby or Taiyang or any other of her friends around Beacon, they would have understood the universal sign for ‘ _let’s hug_ ’, but Blake just stood there and stared at her uncertainly. Yang tried to brush off the awkward space of time by coughing low in her throat. “Um, we hug now.”

Copper eyes rolled, but not without the smallest hint of amusement. “What is it with you and hugging?”

“Friends hug. It’s a rule.”

Her lips pursed, but she didn’t refuse Yang. Instead, Blake stepped into her arms, her own crooking around her back. She felt soft and pliable in Yang’s hands— and she didn’t want to change Blake, necessarily, but she wanted to change the way she thought of other people. Not everyone broke promises. Not everyone was going to leave her. Yang knew she wouldn’t, and she didn’t say it out loud, but she promised Blake that.


	7. Chapter VI - Dusk Falls

**_Adam  
  
_**

The wind was whistling a tuneless song, and he had never been this uncertain. 

Adam Taurus stood, alone, a dark silhouette on the cliff’s edge. He was rigid as he towered, overlooking the lands far below. He could see the red distant sea of Forever Fall, swallowed up by the dark gold of dusk shadows, and perhaps that was why he liked this place, because it served as a reminder of simpler times, of times where blood did not stain his hands and where he could solve his problems with a wave of a sword and a few kind words.  

But he was no longer that little boy; he did not know himself, could not draw a line in the sand between who he was at heart and the person that lurked in his darker shadows, and from this vantage point, he did not regret his cruelty. Perhaps it should scare him, but he only felt a distant longing for _more_ \- a hunger within him that could not be sated.  

The wind cut through his clothes, and he considered activating his semblance, if only for the warmth it would provide in this barren wasteland, but he discarded the idea as swiftly as it had come. Ayran would be displeased, think he was too accommodating to nomad wishes. He had to be austere with himself. As the highest ranking officer in his Elite, he had duties to uphold, and squandering his semblance for such a simple thing as _warmth_ would speak of arrogance, selfishness, of greed. 

 Of _weakness._ That was something he could not afford. He had clawed his place to the top, alone, and he intended to keep it the same way: with his own two hands, nothing more.  

However, it was looking out upon Forever Fall that he could not banish the mocking ghosts of his greatest failures, and of all those failures, his biggest demon was the fading image of a girl with black hair and haunted, fire-filled eyes that tortured him the most. Everything in his life was so tightly controlled, so carefully kept under reigns, but she— she had been inexorable. 

Looking back, he couldn’t remember most of the detail of that day on the train; it had become like a string of film played too many times. Chunks were missing, pieces were blurred out. Had she been using her weapon as a gun or cleaver? Had she been on the offense or defense? Had she been wearing her bow, or leaving the Faunus part of herself that she despised open to the air? It was fading, chunks of memory breaking away, and for that, he was equally grateful and furious.   

Blake; once his Bonded partner. Now, he didn’t know anything or anyone he hated more, except perhaps the humans— but no, she was worse, because she had betrayed her own kind. He felt a sharp anger, albeit a murderous kind, when he thought of her. The other feelings he had harbored had soured into bitterness and resent, because, _dammit,_ she had left him without a moment’s hesitation, left their carefully constructed dreams for the future, abandoned his hopes like they were a burden, seeking her own liberation. 

_“I am not your absolution,”_ she had told him once, after waking from those nightmares that had always plagued her. _“I am nobody’s obligation.”_

 He’d not known what that meant when she’d told him, saying it like she was telling him of his own destruction. Now he knew. And he was _burning,_ always burning with hatred for her. 

 “You grow angry, do you not?” 

He didn’t move as a voice— neutrally amused— observed his stiff posture and narrowed eyes. He merely brushed off imaginary dust from his clothes and responded, “I am young no longer, my lady, and I am not angry… merely contemplative.” 

“Let us discard with the formality of titles.” He couldn’t suppress a shiver as Cinder Fall came to stand beside him. He didn’t _like_ the huntress- didn't hate her, no, but she was... different in a way that spoke of ancient magic, old ways, deceit that ran as deep as the blood of the earth. She was as awful and beautiful as a dying season, her guise fraught with expectations and lies. The other Faunus, even Ayran, and even Torchwick, did not scare him. He didn’t _get_ scared; it wasn’t like him. But she… she was something not entirely human, and he could not get any vibes of evil or good from her, just a careful, cool grayness, like static. That frightened him, even if he would not admit it to himself. 

“You look out on their lands and envisage much,” she observed, “and what do you feel?” 

 “I _need_ it,” he snarled— burning, always burning—“need to see the humans crumple under the weight of labor and inferiority as they have done to us for so long. Ayran understands that. Torchwick, in some ways, knows it too. Surely you must as well.” 

 Cinder’s eyes heated, like a lighter sputtering to life, going from amber to ember. “I will remember what you have deemed adequate for your Faunus, Adam Taurus, but do not delude yourself into thinking I would change my plans for you because you lust for a utopia that does not exist.” Her eyes were dangerous, cold amber-gold, hot copper, like a hawk, sensing any weakness. _She_ was dangerous, he supposed, but it was a spontaneous danger that could snap at any whim: like a gas flame under glacier ice. “You lie. You _are_ aware of what is coming. I would not have chosen a weak fool to work alongside. But Ayran… he is driven by foolish greed and no control of ruthlessness.” 

 And that was the difference, was it not? Cinder was subtle as a snake, or like the poison that lurks in one’s veins before it makes its deadly strike. Ayran was about as delicate as the blow of a hammer. To crush the opposition, you needed something far more advanced than a relentless tyrant. 

 “He is like my father,” Adam rumbled, uncomfortable, choosing his words carefully.  


"Your _true_ father,” Cinder Fall said with something like a purr in her voice, as soft and venomous as a spider’s fur, “was murdered by his hand.” 

 He turned away, looking out at the violet horizons that crested the mountains. _The humans’ realm,_ he thought angrily. _Not ours. Never ours…_ “My true father hardly knew I existed. I wasn’t sad when he died. But that he was murdered— you don’t know that.” 

 “No.” She came closer, slinking like a cat. _Gas flame, glacier ice._ Her dress glowed with flame-gilded etches, pulsing with danger and Dust. “I _do_ know, more than you will ever dream of. And I suspect. And when I suspect, I do not hesitate.” 

 Adam laid a hand on Wilt, his back straightening as she made a half-turn behind him. “And what is it you suspect about me?” 

 “There are many keys to obtaining what I need,” she said. _Need,_ not _want,_ and perhaps that was what had swerved Adam’s loyalty between her and Ayran. “Many solutions. I suspect you are one of them.” 

 “I am.” He smiled. “So then we understand each other.” 

 “That,” she purred, and he could almost sense the coiling of muscles like a snake before it strikes, “I suppose we do.” She smiled; it was entirely devoid of humor or light, as cold and chilling as the eyes of a shark. 

 The air shimmered and rippled like fabric, and then she was gone. 

 Adam took a moment longer, a snarl marring his expression. He whirled, turning back to the jagged, serrated teeth of the mountains that jutted against the blackening sky. “You left me,” he hissed to the cool, beckoning air of the gathering dusk. “Now, I’m right here… hiding in silence. You turned your back on everything we worked for for a dream, and the real world isn’t full of fairy tales. You will pay in blood, Blake Belladonna, for what you have done. And may you never stop coming— never stop coming until we are face to face.”

_Phase two,_ he thought out to the world that would soon burn, a world shattered to remnants, all of it crumbling to ashes for him, _begins at last._

When he returned to the warehouse that served as the main base for White Fang operations, there was a thicker crowd of Faunus than usual, most of them with jeering looks on their cruel faces. He shoved through the coalesced crowd— they parted easily around him— to see Ayran lounged on his throne, eyes sharp with the graceful predatory guise that came right before a kill. A slender, bird-like Faunus girl was on her knees in front of him, flanked by two guards, and the crowd shouted at her— obscene, profane, throwing rocks and jeers. Vicious gashes scored her face, her arms, but her eyes burned with defiance as she spat blood out at Ayran’s throne. 

He rose slowly, lazily, padding towards her with the lithe sinuous grace of a cat. He loomed above her, casting a sharp shadow; her eyes glared up at him with absolute hatred. 

“Have you,” he said softly, danger in his voice, “any last words, my darling?” 

She snarled a word that would have gotten her beaten for insubordination any other time. Now, Ayran just threw back his head and laughed, and the crowd followed suit, a cackling sneer rippling through the room. The girl’s face whitened, and she cast her eyes around desperately, perhaps realizing of the enormity of her situation, the gravity of her reality— and her eyes met Adam’s, a silent plea in them. 

_You can’t agree with this cruelty. Please… please help me._

Her eyes were amber, her hair dark… she looked like Blake, except the blood and bruises and the broken look were uniquely her own, and Adam bit back anger, deliberately turning his face away.

He heard when the death blow came, and he heard her cry out before it cut off abruptly with a gurgling noise, and he stood still, silent, _chilled,_ as the room slowly filtered out, White Fang members filing out until it was devoid. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the air as Ayran’s heavy footfalls slowly cracked across the floor until the White Fang’s leader was standing by his lieutenant, a terrible look on his scarred face. 

“She was a traitor,” Ayran growled heavily. Was it just Adam, or had a distinctive note of weariness entered his tone? 

“Yes, Lord.” Adam fought the urge to rip off his mask; the air in the room was suddenly stifling, oppressively smothering. 

“I see your doubt, Adam.” Ayran turned away, sitting on his throne and pulling off his own mask, revealing new lines creasing his eyes, but the eyes were the same— always the same— as cold and hard and unfeeling as gems. “Come. Sit with me.” 

Adam sit gingerly on the dais as if it might explode, and he looked down at his hands, avoiding the limp corpse that slumped, head lolling, at the center of the room: an _it_ now, not a she, killed on a whim. From this angle, her back arched and faced to them, it could have been the corpse of anyone. It could have been the body of Blake, blood slowly ebbing out from her neck, slashed to ribbons. Ayran didn’t look bothered at his kill; rather, he thoughtfully wiped his slick hand, coated in blood up to the wrist, on the throne, adding even more gruesome decor to the puzzling mazework of fused bones. 

“How do you feel about the progress we are making?” Ayran’s question— carefully guarded, demanding—didn’t invite honesty, and yet, Adam answered to him the same as he had answered to Cinder, with the same burning, the same ruthless recklessness. 

“I _hate_ it.” Adam couldn’t help that the words came out as a hiss, snakes coiling over his tongue. He was almost surprised Ayran couldn’t see them writhing there, as nothing escaped his jaded amber-green eyes— but then again, perhaps he could. “I _hate_ it, how we can’t change anything, how the humans look at us… the fear, the terror, the hatred…” _And then we go and wage war because their pettiness has kept us inferior for years._

“Are you sure you do not enjoy it, just a little?” Ayran’s voice was soft, amused, never bothered, always as calm and controlled as a predator. “The humans fear you, of course; you’re a Faunus. They write you off as a monster. But these other Faunus of the White Fang… they respect you with their fear, too, Commander of my Elite, as good as my son. Does it not thrill you? Humans completely at your whim, White Fang members clay in your hands to be molded, to do with as you please… that never excites you, never makes your pulse race with the possibilities laid out before you?” 

Adam had never _liked_ weakness, never appreciated it, despite his origins, and a shiver of disgust rolled down his spine. “No, Lord.” 

Ayran’s fangs flashed menacingly as he smiled. “That is why I trust you, Taurus, more than anyone else. You do not take pleasure in the weakness of others, and you do not enjoy breaking those who do not obey.” He waved a disparaging hand at the crumpled corpse on the floor. “All tests, of course. I watched you carefully after you returned from Forever Fall. You performed admirably, unlike your partner—“

“She’s not my partner,” he growled, the words out before he could even consider them. “She’s dead to me.” 

Ayran threw his head back and laughed, a bone-chilling laugh that sent ice splintering into Adam’s blood. “You really _are_ in poor spirits tonight, aren’t you?” His eyes fell back onto Adam, abruptly frosting over again. “You know that many of our own betray us: Tukson, Khione, Brian, Maria, and lastly, Blake. She, the little pet, was an experiment, Adam, and she failed. I had hopes for her, and she dashed them spectacularly, as was customary— both her mother, and her father, betrayed me as well. I knew she’d leave eventually. As did you, even if you denied it to yourself.” His face turned towards Adam’s; in the dim light, the craters of scars were more pronounced, the rugged skin like scales. “The question is, what do _you_ think?” 

“I will kill her, like you killed her parents,” he hissed, and Ayran’s mouth thinned to a gruesome smile, dipped at the edges where the tips of his fangs showed. 

“Of course, to be sure. They’ll all pay in blood for what they have done, come a day. And you will be at the forefront of the charge. Only one has ever escaped the wrath of the White Fang. Only one.” His eyes darkened. “There is always a deviant, of course, there always is. One Faunus, the sister of Brian Belladonna, Blake’s father. She… escaped.” The words were measured, bleak with fury. 

Adam’s hand rested on Wilt, the hilt cold to the touch. “Is that so? What was her name?” 

“Do not jest with me, Taurus. Blake’s father had foolish plans to crumple my own dreams, and so he died, as did his wife; he was a traitor to his kind. But his sister? She was a lowly Faunus, too, and a coward who refused to fight in the Great War. Her name was Khione Belladonna.”

“I have not heard of that name before.”  

“And now, you must forget it. I’m sure she’s dead, or living with regret, wherever she is.” He turned away, austere, cultured, and disciplined once more, and strode off. At the square of light, the doorway, he paused and looked over his shoulder, eyes glittering, hard as jade. “And, Taurus?” 

“Yes, my Lord.” 

“Get rid,” he said, throwing a disgusted hand at the corpse, which was slowly attracting a cloud of flies as the blood dried to a cloying pool of rust-red congealment, “of _that.”_

 

* * *

 He stood alone, the shattered light of the moon shedding silver glory down around him, but not touching him, never touching him. The night sounds left a bitter, bleak taste in his mouth. 

  _“Good-bye,” Blake says, before her and her twinkling eyes disappear into the night._

Adam waited a moment longer, as if expecting, faintly, in the part of him that was not a monster through and through, for some absolution to come from the cold moon. But it did not, and he listened for the sound of receding feet in the halls before he moved back to his own cot. He curled up, pressing up against himself as if he could fold himself up into a little box and vanish, closed his eyes, and readied himself to fall into his own nightmares again. 

Perhaps it was a fitting punishment, for in the morning, he would create them. 

 


	8. Chapter VII - Embers of a Fire Long Dead

**_Weiss_ **

“You know, I really saw you as more of a half-milk, half-coffee kind of drinker.” 

Weiss tented her fingers around the steaming cylinder of her mug, the percolator still bubbling on the nightstand. Dark steam curled off the surface of her coffee, the rich scent filling the room. “An influx of milk,” she said, “adds unneeded supplements and can lead to dietary issues. Besides, straight black coffee simply tastes better.” She took a sip, the familiar buzzing jolt of energy humming into her veins. It really was far too hot to be drinking, and it scalded her throat on the way down, but with classes looming in less than a half-hour, she couldn’t find the energy to mind. 

Yang grunted and crossed her arms behind her head, propping her feet on the headboard of the bed, her feet pressing against the varnish. “Well, at least you’re not a tea drinker. People who can drink tea willingly freak me out.” 

Blake looked up at her, folding down the edge of her book with an offended air. “Yang, _I_ drink tea.”

“Yeah,” Yang grinned into her palm and stuck out her tongue at Blake, “and you freak me out. Your point?” 

Blake rolled her eyes, propped herself up on her elbows, and turned back to her book. There was a more friendly edge between them now, a bantering lightness, and Weiss suspected that Yang had probably given another one of her infamous motherly pep-talks to the other girl. In any case, most of the rifts between the team had been resolved, and she frowned against the lip of her cup, because she had been the cause of the first splitting divide. 

She had more than _wanted_ to be leader, and not even for the high regard it would afford her. She had sat down at one o’clock in the morning, thoughts running rampant in her head as moonlight shimmered coldly through the window, listening to the gentle breathing of her teammates, and struggled to pen up something to Winter and her father. By the morning, the wastebasket was so full of crumpled up sheets of paper that it was brimming at the rim, and she was half-exhausted with lack of sleep. She had sent the letter after debating for days, because she knew of the anger that would meet her, with no retribution. They had pushed her to be leader, and she had failed— to a fifteen year old, no less. Her father’s angry words still bounced in her head, sharp edged and cruel. _Failure… lazy, good-for-nothing daughter… you’ve let me down._

She set her cup down, her appetite reduced. She’d tried to be furious at Ruby, to no avail. There wasn’t anything remotely satisfying in taking her anger out on the smaller girl because she never did _anything_ to retaliate, and Weiss had known for one of the first times in her life, the crushing weight of guilt. She’d gone ahead and taken her anger out anyways, because something sick in her dared her to, just to see if she could. 

“Dammit, Weiss, she’s said your name _five times now._ ” 

“Yang!” Ruby said, but she was laughing into her cup of hot cocoa. “Language.” 

“Pardon.” Yang cleared her throat before singing out in a falsetto high that was probably meant to imitate Ruby, but instead only made her sound like she had sucked in a helium balloon, “Gosh diddly darn-it, Weiss—“

“What?” Weiss said, nettled. 

“I said pass me the schedule.” Ruby flopped over the side of the bed, her arms dangling, chunks of choppy dark hair falling into her eyes. Weiss thrust the crumpled schedule at her before draining the last of her coffee.

“Darn it, we have Professor Port _again—“_

Yang sputtered, choked on her coffee and swore loudly, eliciting a chuckle from Blake, a glare from Weiss, and a yelp from Ruby as she covered her ears and gave a dual glare at Yang. “Taiyang told you to watch your mouth at home, I don’t see why it’s different here—“ 

“Aww, did you get in _trouble?_ ” Blake snickered. 

“Whatever,” Yang said, but she was grinning as she crumpled her Styrofoam cup into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket, where it arced gracefully before landing on top of other papers with a crackle. “All he ever did was take away Ember Celica for a few days.” 

“I heard from team CFVY that he’s partnering us up and making us fight Grimm to assess our skills,” Ruby puffed, swinging herself back up into her bed. “Bit stupid, really, if we’re here for a reason. We _must_ be capable.” 

“Not all of us are tiny crime-stopper centrals,” Yang said, rising from her bed and shifting her gauntlets onto her wrists with an audible clicking pop. “Besides, I’d really like to see Cardin wipe his stupid face on the ground. Maybe he’ll get creamed by an Ursa. It’s a shame that Jaune played hero back at Forever Fall, if you ask me.” 

Weiss rolled her eyes. _Simple-minded fools, every one of them,_ she thought idly, though she didn’t mean it. _It wasn’t even him. It was Pyrrha that stepped in and prevented disaster._ Much as she disliked the vapid leader of Team JNPR, she wasn’t going to spill Pyrrha’s secret, because it wasn’t hers to tell. 

After they had departed their room, falling into a familiar flank formation, the hallways were bustling with more students than usual. She felt a prickle of excitement— as the Vytal Festival approached, the school was filtering in with a diverse array of other Students— unkempt Vacuo, easygoing Mistral, diplomatic Atlas, and the bulk of the student body, the disciplined Vale.

The Vytal Festival was a chaotic venture that Remnant had taken, the endeavours of it containing great risk, but it was a time of aching happiness to simply be alive. She’d been going for as long as she could remember, the blurry, hazy memories of smoky alleys strung with fairy lights and fairgrounds that smelled sticky and sweet, of trees turning to burnished colors of flame, of looking down from the soaring grandeur that was the Amity Colosseum and seeing people traversing the grounds below, like bustling ants in a tiny anthill. She’d felt happy then, with Winter by her side and her parents behind her, before the White Fang had started their ambushes. Before people had started going missing.  
  
Before her father had changed.  
  
And she liked it because it served a monument to happier times, where she ran with her youth and did not have the weight of worlds on her shoulders.

It had changed when she was twelve, the year the Schnee Dust company went into questionable ventures and she’d been forced out of her childhood much earlier than she should’ve been, growing up while others were simply growing _into_ their world. Those years when her father had remained in his study late into the night, and swinging between vicious moods and darkly muttering tirades had been a permanent scar on her mind. Sometimes the slash on her eye still gave a phantom twinge, as if it, too, harbored the memory of agony— 

Her nails carved half-moons into her palms, stinging. She would _not_ go there. Schnees didn’t allow themselves to reign so freely in fickle emotion. Shutting down the memories of dark rooms, and staring at her gaunt face in the mirror, she continued on down the hall. 

A loud, angry voice— Weiss rolled her eyes as she recognized it as Cardin’s— soared through the air. “If those damn Faunus show their faces around our dorm, I don’t care what Goodwitch says. I’ll take care of them like the animals they are.Yeah, they are, Dove - fucking _freaks_.” 

Blake pulled up short and stiffened, and for a moment Weiss saw through the Winter-like chilly facade to what was underneath, and it was dark and agonized and reminded her more of her own eyes in the mirror than of her sister’s. 

But then Yang put her hand on Blake’s shoulder, ducking to whisper something into her ear, and Blake relaxed at her touch, though the frozen memory of a wild, writhing panic still shadowed her eyes.  


* * *

  
Predictably, Port’s class went disastrously. The inevitable mess that partners in duo combat trials against caged Grimm— Ruby and she had handled it with perhaps a bit more flair than needed, Blake and Yang had dispatched theirs in a matter of moments, Ren and Nora had almost blown up Professor Port’s desk with their combined energy, and Jaune and Pyrrha had, unsurprisingly, been drastically different in skill levels— left them all tired and disheveled, and Weiss could feel exhaustion shuddering through her veins.

“Did you _hear_ Cardin?” Yang said as they wandered out past the fountains. “What an entitled little brat.” 

Blake shot her a furtive look, and Weiss briefly wondered what _her_ problem was, before Ruby spoke, worry in her voice. 

“Well, he’s going to keep saying those awful things about the Faunus— you saw the news, the White Fang have been— well, they’ve been more active lately, haven’t they?” 

“The White Fang,” Weiss growled. “They had better not disrupt the Vytal Festival.” 

Blake spoke quietly, her voice gritted. “There’s no reason to assume they would attempt to sabotage it. There’d be no point.” 

“The Faunus,” Weiss snapped back with anger fizzling inside of her, “are _born_ to violent tendencies.” 

With a low growl, Blake turned and stalked away, dark her hair trickling down her spine in the icy cut of the wind, and with a worried look at Weiss and Ruby, Yang hurried after her as wind skittered mournfully across the courtyard. Ruby gave a sad sort of sigh before trudging off, too, Weiss narrowed her eyes, the image of a bloody corpse— one of her father’s bureaucrats, a disciplined and stern man— flickering behind her eyes. It was the Faunus that had done that, and a part of her was still the little girl that felt the stinging lash of her father striking her across the face. As if in agreement, her scar rippled with a twitch of pain, and she swallowed back molten hot anger. 

_You’re a failure, Weiss,_ a tiny voice hissed at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t tell if it had the voice of her father, Winter, or herself. 

 

* * *

 

**_Yang_ **

 

Yang shivered. 

She was perched in a tree, but she was too embarrassed to leave, because really the whole situation was awkward, and it was all Ruby’s fault. 

They had been horsing around in the courtyard during a class, and Ruby had shot her gauntlet right off of her wrist, leaving her skin smoking from the friction, and it had wedged itself into the twisting fork of a tree. She couldn’t very well scale the tree during class, so she’d snuck down here at night… and she had heard footfalls while she was wrestling with trying to yank Ember Celica from the prongs of the branches. To her surprise, she’d craned her neck back and seen Blake, staring up at the night sky— starless; the abundance of lights drowned it out, and the moon was a tuft of white in the distance— with a look of such forlornness on her face, Yang had felt like she would be violating something, something sacred, if she revealed her presence. 

The moonlight played in sharp, singing notes between them, dark shadows spilling across Blake’s jaw. Blake swirled towards the moon in silence, held it in her eyes. They turned to a molten silver, two tiny, rippling pictures of the night sky. There was something dark there, something that made her think of the dilapidated barn where she and Ruby had almost gotten killed. If people could emit colors, Yang thought, a black mist would be shading Blake, because Yang could feel the anguish that lived in her partner, that slept like a serpent in her veins. 

She didn’t say anything. She could have well been a statue, for all she moved, carved of sharp hard rock. Yang could almost imagine a sculptor poised with a pick in their hand, viewing the image of a girl in a marble block. 

“Yang,” Blake said after a while, almost making Yang fall from where she sat, “I know you’re there.” She didn’t move for a second, but then her head turned, two eyes like golden fire scorching into Yang. 

Yang wrenched her gauntlet from the tree with a grunt and dropped down almost sheepishly, leaves rattling and drifting down with her. Blake eyed her warily. “Why are you out here?” 

“I could ask you the same question,” she challenged, wriggling her weapons back onto her wrists, but she instantly felt guilty at the look on Blake’s face, and she reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. Blake stiffened, but didn’t draw back, and Yang gave her a faint smile. 

“We’re friends, remember. Partners. You can talk to me anytime. You _know_ that, right?” 

Blake didn’t smile back, but Yang thought she saw the darkness in her eyes lighten a little bit, the mist turning from black to gray. She reached up and gently took Yang’s hand off her shoulder, fingertips lingering.“Yes, Yang,” she said, and there was something sad in her eyes. “I know that.” 


	9. Chapter VIII - The Memory of Constellations

**_Ruby_ **

_She was spinning in the air and it was summertime._

_The vast expanse of a sloping, clipped lawn rolled away to a two-story house with a curving balcony, and trees twisting up from the ground. The house was peeling with paint, the windows open like vacant eyes, curtains fluttering in the high wind. The salty scent of the sea was sharp in the air, the dusk painting the sky in purples and golds and grays, and Summer Rose swung her about before setting her down in the grass. Ruby was breathless with laughter, and she staggered about, dizzy, before collapsing in a heap on the lawn._

_“Summer,” Taiyang pleaded, plaintively. “You’ve made her all jittery, now. You know she gets hyper—“_

_“It’s alright, love,” Summer Rose broke in, laughing, sweeping a curl of choppy dark hair behind her ears. Her eyes were like overexposed lights, more silver than gray, laughing and freely happy. “She ought to be happy before I go on my mission. We know what a spoil-sport you are, Tai.” She dropped a glittery wink at Ruby, who grinned and stuck her tongue out at her father._

_Taiyang assumed a stern look, though his eyes were gleaming with amusement. “Why, I—“ Then he staggered forward, eyes widening, as a force slammed into him from behind._

_“I’ve— fallen,” he gasped, before dropping to the ground in a skewed, lolling imitation of a corpse. Yang crawled off of him, baring her brawling wrists, crowing in triumph. “I did it, Ruby, I slew the Huntsman!”_

_Ruby opened her mouth— to charge, to jump into mock-battle, but then her dream was changing._

_The memory dissolved into a shadowy place, devoid of life and leeched of color. The grueling weight of gravity pulsed down upon her. Sunken depressions scattered unevenly across the barren landscape, and the sun hung in the sky, swollen and scarlet like a burnt cinder. Broken struts and shattered scaffolding of buildings soared up from the ground, like jagged knives._

_She could see the eyes of Grimm burning like torches in the dark, bloody scarlet pits of eyes. They moved in a ceaseless tide, the humming dissonance of their footfalls beating against her ears. They fanned out, flooding across the land like a swirling dark river with flashes of white like detritus, and Ruby felt them lust for her fear, for the darkness that drove them. A solid wall of greed, hate, sorrow— all those emotions that slept in her veins— woke, amplified, and crashed down over her._

_One of the Grimm halted on the outermost edges and turned towards her, its brutish face twisted in a bared-teeth grin. But its eyes weren’t crimson; they were silvery-gray like the moon, like Summer Rose’s, and then Ruby was twisting and falling into darkness as a scream tore from her throat—_

“Hey. Hey, Ruby, wake up.” 

Ruby cracked up one eye, bleary, from sleep. She frowned— there had been a dream, she was sure, of green lawns, gray eyes, darkness— but it was like trying to hold onto sand as it sifted through a sieve. She was only aware of vague sense of sadness before that, too, faded; she shook the lingering traces of the dream away and frowned up at Yang, who was fully dressed, highlighted in the muted dawn light that glared through the slashed curtains. 

“Yang,” she protested weakly. “Let me sleep. It’s the weekend.” 

“Hell yeah, it is. That means we get the day off. We’re all gonna go downtown, remember? Mistral ships start arriving today. The Vytal tournament isn't too far away.” 

Excitement coursed through her veins, burning away the traceries of sleep. “ _Right!_ I forgot - well, I didn't forget, obviously, because it's the _tournament_  and who could forget it, right, it's crazy,but I - ”  


"Ruby. Breathe. Get dressed. Chill."   
  
"Don't be yangry, sis."

A pillow thumped into Ruby's head and a quick glance revealed that Blake had thrown it and was glaring at the both of them. " _It is too early for puns."_  
  
"It's never too early for puns, kitten," Yang said cheerily, and Blake groaned loudly.

After Ruby had gotten dressed, made Weiss grumpy and amended it by pouring her coffee, shaken Blake awake a total of six times, and Yang hit her partner with the notorious book  _Ninjas of Love,_ and gotten yelled at by both the former and the latter, they were ready to go. The halls of Beacon— normally vacant on a weekend— were flooded with students just as eager to go to the city. 

The day outside was the crisp, cloudless blue of autumn that gave you a peculiar ache of both happiness and nostalgia. Wind rustled in breaths through the trees, turning honey-golds and reds into a shifting sea of color, and the city was _alive,_ busting with excitement as people prepared for the festivities that approached in just a few short weeks. The low, lovely whistle of flute music swung through the air, followed by sweeter trills of a violin, and the distant swelling and crashing of the sea made Ruby want to spread her arms and take in all of Vale— her home. It was no Patch, but it was somehow just as good. 

She’d come here with her family several times as a kid, and the memories bombarded her, most of them bittersweet— Taiyang picking her up in his arms and spinning her around in the air. Yang finding her left hand, opening her fingers, and pushing a Vytal cake in her palm, the golden brown pastry’s surface sticky, scented of cinnamon and sugar, oozing honey and butter, rivulets of the creamy frosting joining the honey in the pit of the swirling center. Summer Rose sneaking glances of the news stations reporting on the White Fang’s evolution as they walked past. Worried gray eyes. She had _loved_ Vale but it was easy to see the hints of changes that had happened— the rusty red stains on some of the buildings that looked suspiciously like blood, the podiums set up for newscasts, the newer statues of a Huntsman bearing a sword and driving off a snarling Beowolf. 

Still, it _was_ the Vytal season, and the buildings were already showing signs of preparations— trellises woven with gold streamers hung off the sides of apartment complexes, and banners with embossed insignias flapped in the wind. 

Ruby glanced back at her team— Weiss, looking out of character as her eyes glowed at the decorations, Yang, brushing hair from her eyes as the wind tossed it about, Blake, glancing at Yang with a curiously soft look in her eyes. 

But then she turned back to the city, with her team at her back and the sun rising above them— and, sure, maybe things were tough. Maybe there was a certain energy in the air setting them on edge, and there was evil in the world— but for now, she had things to look forward to, and she had her team, and that was okay. 

 

* * *

 

**_Blake_ **

There was warmth swelling in her chest. Something dangerous, she was sure. 

Blake gave a frustrated grunt and shifted her shoulders, Gambol Shroud falling further down her back. _Friends—_ the last time she’d placed her trust this squarely in a person, he had shattered it. Yang didn’t have that edge of malevolence, but she was _more_ than she appeared— there were secrets behind her smile, agendas behind her advice. They weren’t malicious, but they were there nevertheless, and that alarmed Blake. 

Because, hell, she actually _liked_ Yang. 

The sea crashed against the shores and against the slicing prows of the boats that had sailed into the harbor, light glittering off the dazzling waters in shattered beaming arcs. 

Yang’s nose crinkled. “Remind me again why we’re spending our afternoon visiting the stupid docks?” 

Blake took a deep breath— the salt and crying wildness of the sea as gulls soared above—but a reluctant smile was tugged from her by the look on Yang’s face and— _ugh,_ this really was going too far _._

_“I’ve_ heard,” Weiss said, a pompous tone entering her voice, “that students visiting from Vacuo will be arriving by ship today. And, as a _representative_ of Beacon, I feel as though it is my _solemn_ duty to welcome them to this fine kingdom!

Blake rolled her eyes, hard. “She wants to spy on them so she'll have the upper hand in the tournament."

Weiss’s shoulders shrugged, sharp and deft through her alabaster shirt, but she didn’t deny it. ”You can't prove that!"

“Hey— guys, look!” 

Blake turned her head— and stiffened. Her eyes landed on the sunlight glancing off of fine, powdered shards of glass that scattered like snow across the cobblestones. A storefront was desecrated, the remaining glass of the window jagged, like serrated teeth, and bright golden bars of caution tape crisscrossed across the door, which hung, shattered, swinging drunkenly off the hinges. 

She followed her team with a sinking feeling in her chest as they stopped short of the ruins of the storefront. She couldn’t pin where the skittish, dreading feeling came from, but it reminded her of the feeling she’d gotten whenever Ayran had sent that flashing and menacing grin her way. 

“I’m sure it’s no biggie,” Yang whispered to her, though her eyes betrayed worry as they looked at the storefront. Blake blinked back at her, and she felt a kaleidoscope of warmth flower in her chest as Yang bit her lip and frowned, before she shook off her feelings. It had been so long since she’d truly trusted someone. She was just— overwhelmed with it, that was all. Overwhelmed, and totally platonic. It had to be. 

Ruby raised her voice and called out to the two detectives that were standing amidst the ruins. ”What happened here?"

One of them turned, a scowl crossing his face as he crunched across the powdered glass. "Robbery. Second Dust shop to be hit this week.” His voice darkened with heavy annoyance. “This place is turning into a jungle."

"That's terrible,” Yang murmured, nudging a remnant of a glinting, bloody-gold Dust shard with her foot. It sparked feebly, jumping backward with a hissing puff of smoke. 

Blake’s ears pricked as she heard an angry voice. ”They left all the money again!” 

Ruby’s head whipped around. ”Huh?"

"Yeah, just doesn't make a lick of sense. Who needs that much Dust?"

"I don't know. An army, maybe?”

"You, uh, you thinking it might be the White Fang?"

Blake’s heart jumped against her ribs. _No…_

The other detective growled an annoyed noise of contempt. ”Yeah, I'm thinking we don't get paid enough."

Weiss dragged her foot back, creating a clear swathe of concrete amidst the broken glass. ”Hmph! The White Fang. What an awful bunch of degenerates!"

Blake felt her chest grow taut at the sneer in her voice, anger jumping to life inside of her. “What's _your_ problem?"

Weiss raised an eyebrow. ” _My_ problem? I simply don't care for the criminally insane."

"The White Fang is hardly a bunch of psychopaths,” Blake growled— _god only knows, I used to think we were in the right—_ crossing her arms and glaring at Weiss. _“_ They're a collection of misguided Faunus."

Her lip curled in revulsion. ”Misguided? They want to wipe humanity off the face of the planet!"

"So then they're _very_ misguided,” Blake spat, before taking a breath to calm herself. “Either way, it doesn't explain why they would rob a Dust shop in the middle of downtown Vale!"

Ruby’s grey eyes flickered worriedly between them, but she didn’t comment. “Weiss, she’s got a point. Besides, the police never caught Torchwick guy I ran into a few months ago, and he was robbing another Dust shop. Maybe it was him."

“The ruffian’s probably six feet under by now,” Yang muttered, and Blake gave her a grateful look. 

Weiss: "That still doesn't change the fact that the White Fang are a bunch of scum. Those Faunus only know how to lie, cheat, and steal."

Blake’s ears flattened and she saw red, a molten tide of anger threatening to overwhelm her. _Shut up, shut up, shut_ up _—_

Yang shifted uncomfortably, a frown on her face. ”Uh, Weiss, that's not necessarily true— ”

A shrill shout interrupted her fuming fury. “Hey, stop that Faunus!"

_You have got to be_ kidding _me._

Blake followed stiffly as her team ran to the guardrails, but her anger fizzled to confusion as she saw a shape crouched on the edge of a ship, his hair ruffled in gold. As she watched, the figure arced off the railing and fell lightly to the sun-withered boards below, taking off in an unhurried gait to the stairs.As the detectives followed in hot pursuit, he increased his pace, sprinting up the stairs and twirling up onto the railing. 

As he sprang past them, he turned and grinned sharply at Blake, and she froze. Weiss’s shout shattered her shock.

That _grin,_ reckless and bright, so like Adam… 

_No._ She took to her feet and fled after her team. 

_He’s a ghost I need to let go of._


	10. Chapter IX - The Faunus's Tale

**_Yang_ **

They were back in the dorm after the unfortunate incident with Penny, and then all hell had broken loose.

Yang had been in many awkward situations in her life. She’d seen Qrow get so drunk that he had toppled off a balcony and into a pool (the beer had, of course, ruined the pool). She’d walked in on Taiyang and Summer Rose doing something that most _decidedly_ was not rated G and had invariably scarred her impressionable six-year old mind (she had wanted to bleach her eyes). She had accidentally punched an old guy in the face and sent him flying into a ladder, dumping neon paint all over his tuxedo (long story). But this by far had to top the list.

Standing awkwardly with Ruby while their partners screamed at each other loud enough to wake people beyond the confines of the room? Yeah, it wasn’t the most ideal situation.

The worst part of it was that Yang had never really seen Blake get what could be called _angry._ Annoyed, contemptuous, bothered— sure, all of those were practically Blake’s defaults. But this cold, hardened fury? It was new, and it was, to tell the truth, alarming. The most Yang had ever achieved was getting her riled on the cliffs of Forever Fall, and seeing her disconcerted. But this— this was odd, a _cutting_ anger that went down to the shadows in her eyes, like Weiss had struck a nerve and she was lashing out like a cobra.

Besides, Yang didn’t want that fury unleashed on her if she interrupted their argument. Why _were_ they arguing, anyways? Blake didn’t really seem like an enthused advocate for Faunus rights. Yang had only ever been dragged to one of their peaceful protests, by her uncle Qrow, and it hadn’t been fun.

But Blake was her partner, her _friend,_ and so, compelled to take her side in the argument, Yang went to get up before Weiss’s voice rose in rage.

“I don’t see why this is such a big problem!”

Blake’s lip curled in what could only be described as a snarl. “That _is_ the problem.”

“You’re just trying to cause an issue out of _nothing!”_

Blake made a hissing sort of noise; her cheeks were spotted with high color, like fever. “You are making a mistake,” she ground out, “talking to me like this, Weiss.” She took a deep breath and, with effort, battled back a stream of insults. It didn’t go unnoticed by Weiss, because her face darkened.

“You _do_ realize you’re defending an organization that hates humanity,” Weiss snapped, “hates _us.”_ Blake’s eyes narrowed. _“_ The Faunus of the White Fang are pure evil, and you—“

Blake’s mouth twisted, a starburst of pain fracturing behind her eyes, and Yang recoiled. _Damn, this is about to get real,_ she thought, vaguely aware that if she could stifle Blake’s anger, she should try, but something _warned_ her not to intervene, that if she did, Blake’s fury could just as easily be turned on her, and that above all was something she didn’t want. “There’s no such thing as pure evil,” Blake growled, voice low and thick with anger. “Why the _hell_ do you think they hate humanity? It’s because of people like Cardin, people like _you,_ that force them to take such drastic measures!” Her voice rose.

 _And right as RWBY got back together, we’re fighting again,_ Yang realized, getting up from her chair. _This can’t happen, please. Not now._

“ _People like me?”_ Weiss’s eyes were blazing.

“You’re _discriminatory!”_ Blake spat.

“I’m a victim!” Weiss snarled, fists barring at her sides, and Blake’s eyes went to slits, two chips of cold fire. As they stared each other down, the air crackling with silence, Weiss leaned forward, her face frosty. “You want to know _why_ I despise the White Fang? Why I don’t particularly trust the Faunus?” She rocked back against the bookshelf, moonlight streaming the window. “It’s because they’ve been at war with my family for years… war, actual _bloodshed.”_ Blake didn’t looked surprised, and Yang tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “My grandfather’s company has had a target painted across its back for as long as I can remember, and ever since I was a child, I’ve watched family friends disappear— board members executed— an entire train car full of Dust absconded. And every day my father came home _furious.”_ Shadows chased shadows in her eyes. “That made for a _very_ _difficult childhood.”_

Ruby slipped past Yang and tentatively laid a hand on Weiss’s shoulder. “Weiss— I—“

“No!” Weiss snapped back around, chomping at the bit for a fight. “You know why I hate the Faunus? It’s because they’re _liars!_ _Thieves!_ And _murderers!_ ” Blake looked as if Weiss had struck her, each word painful as a slap across the face.

Yang remembered once, when she was very small, when she had shattered a vase; she had looked at the broken shards, shattered across the floor, and thought: _nothing can ever put these pieces back together again._

She made to move forward, but Blake’s teeth were bared in a snarl, her eyes bright with tears, and Yang knew, she knew, things were about to fall _apart—_ “Maybe we were just tired of being _pushed around!”_

And there it was.

Instantly, the wretched anger on Blake’s face dissolved, replaced with horror. Yang— distantly; very distantly, as if from another land, another lifetime, felt her heart skip, as if jerking from cords and plunging into freefall. In a second, images shuttered behind her eyes: _it must be hard to be a Faunus, the Faunus are born to violent tendencies, I hate people like him, of this, you have no idea—_

But Blake. _Blake,_ her partner, her friend— someone who she didn’t even _know_ now _._ Any trace of her steely visage, austere and furious like an avenging angel, had vanished, and there was the shadow of terrified helplessness in her face—she looked like she was shattering in the moment, eyes round as the moon. Her face had gone deathly white and still, shock and horror written all over her skin— and then it shattered into terror as Yang reached out, to— what? Touch her? Reprieve her? Offer comfort? Yang knew that she was the last person that could ever offer Blake any comfort. 

Blake recoiled from Yang so fast she almost shot into the bedpost, like her touch was made of acid. “No. No, I— I can’t,” she whispered, and her throat bobbed in a choking swallow before she streaked out of the room in blur of shadow, door banging drunkenly behind her. 

“Blake!” cried Yang, and Ruby echoed her, barely hearing Weiss’s snarl of fury. She cast a helpless look back— Weiss’s shock solidifying into an anger so chilled it sent shock whirling through Yang, Ruby with a hand over her mouth, before she was up on her feet and pounding after Blake, running as fast as if a Beowolf was on her heels. 

She looked until every muscle in her body ached and despair was dark, bitter, in her chest. But Blake was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t in the turrets of Beacon, or the empty classrooms, or even her favorite haven, the library. The shadows yielded nothing, no trace of glittering amber eyes, or her pallor. 

As Yang looked, it gave her time to think. And she was not bothered— not at all.

She’d seen Blake’s bow give odd movements that she had pinned to the blowing of the wind, seen the uncontrollable anger in her eyes when there was discrimination against Faunus, seen her rigid attention to the lectures. Blake being a Faunus, even one of the White Fang— no, that wasn’t what bothered Yang. _Surprised_ her, sure, but it didn’t bother her… 

It was that Blake had _lied_ about it. 

They had made a promise, Yang and Blake. A pact, really, on those cliffs. And Blake had still lied. Yang wasn’t stupid, of course; despite what many thought, a cheery nature, even if it was only a facade, did not equal ignorance. She was aware that Blake had secrets behind her smile, guilt behind her eyes, agendas behind her advice. She just hadn’t realized how _drastic_ they were, how _tortured_ her partner had been. 

The shadows that seemed to perpetually swirl in her eyes made sense now. 

Where the hell had Blake _gone,_ anyways? Yang had scoured the entirety of Beacon. She was either a ridiculously good hider, which was unlikely, because Yang had grown up in a household with Ruby, a certified hide-and-seeker extraordinare, or she was… she was _gone._

And Yang had a sinking, horrible feeling that it was the latter as she sank her teeth, thoughtfully, into her bottom lip.Blake _wasn’t_ able to confront them. It wasn’t in her nature, to be confrontational… unless Yang forced her to it, _challenged_ her, like that day on the cliffs. She had run. But the question was, where to? Yang was forced to stop looking; clearly Blake had fled farther as her past threatened to swallow her. 

Framing her hands on the icy lip of stone rimming the turret she was in, Yang turned her eyes to the sky. The moon was a claw-scratch of white in the sky, stars running in a misty band of silver like a river.

“Please, Blake,” she said to the grinning, frosty stars and the unfeeling moon, “You’ve got to come back.” 

And then, even though it wasn’t necessary, even though it stirred something to life in her chest, that sparking _fire_ that breathed in her veins as a part of her, she whispered to the night wind, as if it could carry the sound to Blake and between all the bonds that linked between them, “Come home to me.” 

 

* * *

**_  
Blake_ **

Blake looked out over the waking city, swore, and mentally added another spectacular screw-up to chalk to her ever-growing list.

In fact, screwing up seemed to be a new trend for her. A _bad_ one. 

Her teeth ground together as the previous night thundered through her mind in snippets of sound and scenes. _Maybe we were tired of being pushed around…_ that single word, _we._

A single word could bring empires to their knees. A single word could create a legacy to stretch out for thousands of years. A single word could ruin a life. 

A single word could break a bond. 

Her most closely guarded secret, her biggest demon, a closely held part of her soul— and she’d let it slip, like a fool, in her uncontrollable tirade of rage. Adam had always scolded her for not keeping reigns on her words. Her backlashes with Ayran had gotten her punished many, many times… but it was this that yielded the most pain. This was the most memorable backlash. _This_ was the one that had broken her life right in two. 

She didn’t know what she was going to _do_ now. If she thought about it, the mere prospect threatened to overwhelm her. So she shoved it in the back of her mind, knowing that sooner or later, she had to confront it. 

Blake closed her eyes, hands curling around the still-steaming cup of tea, as if she could soak up some of the warmth to alleviate the chill that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her marrow. The sun was shedding down warm, buttery beams of light, but she hardly felt them. Even behind her eyes, she could see Yang’s face dancing there, and all the betrayal and hurt on it. Blake opened her eyes with a grunt of frustration, meeting her own gaze in the honeyed, dark surface of the tea. Her face matched the surface: haunted, hollow. 

After she had stopped in the courtyard, tears blurring her vision, a stinging in her heart, Sun had come to her, seen her crying, and offered to give her residence in a small flat he’d rented out in downtown Vale. She’d acquiesced his offer, because it was all she _had._ The flat had been small, but not uncomfortable, and he had left while she slept to do whatever it was a foreign student did while in another city. She had assumed he was probably leaving to raid local shops, but she was glad of the privacy.

Sleep had not come easily that night. She’d tossed and turned, adrift in fitful sleep; when dreams did come, they were dark and threaded with lilac eyes and the blurry silhouettes of her parents. She had woken, shaking and cold to the bone, and Sun was fixing coffee and pancakes with bananas in the kitchenette. He was ravenous; she didn’t think she could eat ever again. 

Now, they were on the sunny balcony atop a small tea cafè. 

Sun was watching her. She didn’t trust him, in particulars; trusting a stranger—even if he was a Faunus and appeared to have honest, straightforward intentions— was a dumb idea. But he had offered her kindness and a listening ear, and that meant the world to her at the moment. 

She needed to speak these words before they consumed her alive. 

Even now, they were rattling in her skull, tearing sharp claws at her chest. Sun didn’t know her; he wouldn’t judge her for her past, and if he did, she could always leave, because she wasn’t obligated to owe him anything. 

It just— it wasn’t so with Yang. What if her partner, her friend— Blake winced a little— had condemned her, for just— for just _fleeing_ like the coward she was? 

Blake wanted Yang to think she was a good person. She wanted to _be_ a good person, for her. Blake had never felt that way. She hadn’t given a damn what Adam thought of her, or Weiss or Ruby or Sun or any of them. If they perceived her as calculating and cold, so be it; it was no skin off her nose. But Yang was different; Blake didn’t know how, but she _was,_ and Blake cared, and that was all there was for it. 

_God,_ sometimes she had the worst luck.

“So,” she murmured, wind tousling her hair. Her voice was rough, hoarse from so long in not speaking. “You want to know more about me.” 

Sun set down his teacup and frowned, lines creasing his brow. He looked apprehensive. “Well, yeah, sure, that’s the general aim.” He framed the air with his hands and tried for a grin, which fell flat in the solemn air. “At least, you’re finally _talking,_ damn. Nearly a day or so now and you’ve given me nothing but small talk and weird looks!” He looked satisfied as she narrowed her eyes, and flicked his tail at her. “Case in point.” 

A sigh rustled its way from her lungs, the words dragged like rocks from her throat. “Sun, are you…” she faltered, the enormity of her past weighing on her. “Are you familiar with the White Fang?”

“‘Course.” His voice was dry, dismissive, touched with flippant scorn. “I don’t think there’s a Faunus in Remnant that hasn’t heard of those psychos. Crazy, wannabe dictators—“

She flinched, stared into the dregs of her cup, knuckles whitening on the curling, delicate stem. Her own voice sounded distorted, echoing, in her ears, like she was speaking from far away, out of a body that wasn’t her own. “I was—once a member of the White Fang.” _That’s putting it lightly…_

He choked in a most unflattering manner, sputtering on his tea. When he turned his eyes back to her, they were pools of disbelief. “Are you— are you serious?” 

“To my chagrin, I am.” She swallowed, and he fell silent, eyes narrowing. “I was… I was a member for most of my life, actually. I was born into it, by my mother and father.

“Back then, things were different. In the ashes of the War, the White Fang was created as a link between humankind and the Faunus, a symbol of peace and unity. But that didn’t last. We were still discriminated against, treated like dirt. That was something we could not stand for. And so the White Fang rose up as the voice of a revolution.” Her lips thinned as a succession of images flashed behind her eyes: a sword, a corpse, a pair of swirling dark eyes, a crowd of screaming Faunus. “I was at the front of every rally. I took part in every boycott. I actually thought we were making a difference, but…” Her voice darkened. “I was just a youthful optimist. There was no difference that the humans offered us… just disparaging acknowledgement. _We_ were the aggressors, and the humans were the heroes. They were vindicated and we were vilified.” 

Anger bubbling in her veins, she continued. “Then, five years ago, our leader, Julian, stepped down… so they say. Others think he was forced into it, but… that doesn’t matter. A new leader took his place. A new Faunus with a new way of thinking. His name is Ayran.” Sun’s eyes glinted at her use of present tense, but he didn’t interrupt, and she went on. 

“He had big plans, big ideals… ones he refused to share with any of us. He’s the most malevolent person I’ve ever known. Suddenly, our peaceful protests were being replaced with organized attacks. We were setting fire to shops that refused to serve us, hijacking cargo from companies that used Faunus labor. And the worst part was, it was working. We were being treated like equals.” Her nails dug into her arms. “But not out of respect… out of _fear._ "

A sigh escaped from somewhere deep within her, a knot of bitterness and resent loosening in her chest. “So I left. I refused to squander my skills, _myself,_ to aid in their violence and deteriorating morals… and I decided to dedicate my life to helping the weak, mending the broken, vanquishing the evil of the world. I would become a Huntress.” She twitched her ears ruefully. “So here I am, a liar and a fool… a criminal hiding in plain view with only the aid of a little black bow.”

Sun’s eyes held sadness, not revulsion, and she hadn’t realized how much she’d been hoping _someone,_ anyone, wouldn’t judge her until it was there. “Have you told your team this?” He pressed gently, leaning forward. “Your friends, your partner?” 

Shame filled her. She’d heard Yang cry out after she had fled, and still she hadn’t looked back. “I— I can’t.” 

“You _have_ to _,_ ” he insisted. “I’m honored you’ve trusted me with this, Blake, but it needs to be heard by those who care for you the most.” 

Her hands clenched on the lip of the table. “Sun, I don’t even know if they consider me a part of the team anymore, especially after I ran off. What if they…” Her voice quavered and she swore. “What if they hate me now?” 

He eyed her thoughtfully. “Hate you for having courage enough to leave those holier-than-thou megalomaniacs? I think what you did was commendable, and I hardly know you. What’s to say your team won’t think you’re brave, too?” 

She swallowed. _I will_ not _cry,_ she told herself gruffly, before nodding, afraid that if she spoke, her voice would break. “I… thanks.” 

“So,” he said, slamming down his cup and grinning broadly at her, “what are we going to do about it?” 

She blinked, confused at his rapid fluctuation between somber to looking like he’d downed three espressos in less than three minutes. “ _What?”_

“You know, all these robberies and stuff. There’s gotta be someone behind it, and there’s no better detective than a Faunus!” He drummed the edge of the table with his fingers, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Actually, wait. Let’s get out of here before we start hatching heroic, jail-the-big-baddies plots. Tea shops are never the best place for violence, and I hate tea.”

“I _love_ tea,” she murmured, but a small smile threatened to play over her face. She killed it, stifling her amusement; there was still darkness winding out ahead of her, and the looming matter of her team. 

Blake was wary as they wandered the street. Trying to keep a low profile, with Sun’s loud talking and flirtatious winks at other girls they passed, was out of the question, so she had to settle for discreetly keeping an eye out for a telltale gleam of sunlight on golden hair, or the _shuff-shuff_ of leather, or a sunny voice, or anything that might let her know where her team— she swallowed— was. Thank her stars that she and Yang weren’t Bonded, or her partner would be able to locate her instantaneously.

But a Bond required a connection stronger than trust, and Blake had shattered whatever _thing_ they had forged back on the cliffs. She wanted to reconcile it, of course; the question was if Yang could forgive her. 

_If_ she could find her, which wasn’t looking so likely right now, but she had bigger worries than the complexity of what she was to her partner. She didn’t want to puzzle over that just yet. 

“I’m fresh out of kickass-saving-the-world ideas,” Sun admitted, jerking her from her thoughts. “So… your call? What’s the plan now?” 

She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t think the White Fang’s behind this. It doesn’t make _sense._ Ayran… he hated everything about the humans, their accomplishments, and that includes Dust, so why would he be stealing all of it all of a sudden? He didn’t _need_ it.” 

Sun’s eyes grew wider. “What if he did, though? Like, what if there’s the smallest chance that he _was_ behind all this. I mean... the only way to prove that the White Fang _didn't_ do it, is to go to the place where they would most _likely_ go to if they _were_ to do it, and not find them there! Right?"

“Aside from all that terrible grammar…” She frowned, pressing her palm to the side of an aged tenancy, and furrowed her brow. “It could work. The only problem is that I’ve no idea where they would go, if it’s him behind all this.” 

"Well,” he said consideringly, “while I was on the ship, I heard some guys talking about offloading a huge shipment of Dust coming in from Atlas."

She felt her heart jump with forbidden hope. “How huge?” 

He brandished his arms for effect, indicating a patch in the air roughly the size of a house cat, and Blake immediately scolded herself for that thought. “ _Huge_. Big Schnee Company freighter."

“You're sure?"

“Hundred percent.” A steely look flared in his eyes, wiping away the glittering mischief. He didn’t look like Adam anymore, and she felt something loosen in her chest. “We’ve just gotta wait ‘em out.” 

“I can wait,” she said softly, “for a long time, to stop them.” 

He knocked his elbow into hers. “See? You’re already plotting to smear those pricks in the dirt. Far strides, eh?”

She frowned at her feet, drawing her arms closer so her elbows jabbed out, a visible guard. Her eyes sliced across the city, sweeping in an unconscious search for a flare of tawny hair. “We’ll see about that until I’m there and stopping them, Wukong.”


	11. Chapter X - These Violent Delights

_**Yang** _

 

Yang was truly and utterly pissed.

It wasn’t enough to activate the whole red-eyed-demon thing and the flaming hair (which had _accidentally_ scorched an unfortunate barber’s hands when he was tending to her while she was in a particularly foul mood) but it was difficult to keep it in check. She could feel it fizzling in her veins, edged with a darker disillusionment at her partner.

She’d started the day with hope… and then desperate worry… and then disappointment… and then it had curdled into a lump of anger. Blake— if she _cared_ about her— would have shown, despite the consequences. She would have _felt—_

No, dammit, she wouldn’t, because they weren’t _Bonded._ Yang scowled. It was eating at her more than she’d like to admit. The Faunus— it was odd to think of her as such— had gotten under her skin, and Yang was still deciphering if that was good or bad.

Deciphering what, exactly, Blake _was_ to her. Friend or partner, stranger or something… more.

She was out there, doing God knew what, and Yang didn’t care to admit to herself that her anger was primarily born from concern. She preferred to stew in her own anger— her fatal flaw, as Taiyang was fond of pointing out. Her Achilles heel. Dipped in the River Styx, untouchable but for where her one vulnerability lay: emotions.

She had tried texting Blake, calling, anything through the Scrolls— but Blake had her location tracker turned off, and calling her went straight to voicemail. Any texts were marked with a resolute _sent, unread._ Finally, Yang had given up.

“You think Ruby’s still looking?” Weiss had a frown in her voice, and Yang narrowed her eyes with a noncommittal grunt.

“She’s got the weird ginger chick— Penny— with her. She’ll be fine.” Yang scowled so deeply at a little bonsai tree that she was sure it would go up in smoke. “We probably shouldn’t have scrammed on her like that, though.”

“A _Faunus.”_ Weiss said quietly, evading Yang’s accusation. She was shaking her head, voice lacking anger for the first time in hours. She sounded tired, and when Yang looked, she was pale and wan. “I wouldn’t care that much, but the _White Fang_ , of all the Faunus to be associated with—“

“Yeah, no, I know.” Yang’s lips thinned as they trotted back out into the city. The sun was falling into drifts of tawny fire, shafts of reddish light filtering eternally upward. “Still. She’s Blake. I— we gotta find her.” Yang had to keep that goal, that _hope,_ in mind, or else she would truly realize how bad things were, and she couldn’t afford to do that.

“I feel bad for how I reacted,” Weiss admitted as they walked down the pavement, heels clicking. “I know I’m not the _easiest_ to get along with, and Blake’s not the confrontational type…”

“That’s putting it lightly— to both things.”

Weiss’s eyes rolled heavenward. “As I was _saying—_ I was… well, I was wrong.”

Yang did a double-take, checking to see if the sky was still blue and the grass was green, because holy hell had Priss Schnee just actively apologized? “Er, I’m sure she’d be ecstatic to hear that,” Yang said awkwardly.

“I came to Beacon for a career, but I came for a team, too, not to be the dividing line. If she’s a Faunus, so be it… I’ll have to learn to live with it. And I _can.”_ Weiss shot her a frosty glare, as if challenging her to disagree, but Yang let out a sigh.

“First, Weiss,” she said, slamming her balled fist resolutely into her palm, “we’ve gotta find her.”

 _And when we do,_ she added silently, _I’ll make sure she knows that she doesn’t have to run anymore._

 

* * *

 

**_Blake_ **

“Did I miss anything, bro?”

“Kindly cease referring to me as ‘ _bro’,_ Wukong. And no, not really. They’ve offloaded all the crates, and it’s a big freighter like you said, but…” She cut her gaze back out over the eerily silent shipyard. “Now they’re just sitting there. Like they’re waiting.”

He attempted a roguish smile, but it was flat. “Huh, well. Criminals will be baddies. But, hey— I stole you some food!”

She propped herself on her elbows, feeling terribly empty inside. “Do you always break the law without a second thought?”

“Weren’t you in a cult or something?” He retorted, before wincing as she shot him a glare of fury. “I didn’t mean that. Sorry.”

“Whatever,” she muttered in a low breath of frustration, before a loud roaring split the air, and light blinded her. Squinting against the glare, she looked up, her heart making itself known by its slamming against her sternum.

An aircraft. The headlights swirled in the shrouded night air, slicing through the obscuring fog with misty rays of light. And she could almost make out at the helm— dusky emerald eyes, was that a flash of ginger hair?

Before she could be sure, the aircraft landed with a grinding, thumping squeak and a ramp unfurled, _shreeeeeing_ as it skidded and bumped to a halt against the concrete. Blake’s heart sank as a man ambled out on the ramp, the moon shining like an accusation on the Grimm mask striping across his face.

Sun was watching her, and he must have seen a shift in her expression, because he let out a hissing breath through his teeth. “Is that them?”

She could not remove her eyes from the scarlet wolf splashed across the small of his back. “Yes, it is,” she murmured reluctantly, breath puffing in the chilly air. Sun cursed, his tail switching irritably across the gravel.

The White Fang lieutenant yelled something at his cronies and Blake felt a snarl tug at her lips. Moonlight shimmered down in an eerie veil, and she felt cold wraiths stir the air, a halo of silver shining across the distant song of the sea.

 _Tonight,_ she swore to herself, vowing it. _The last night._

_I will make it the last night._

She didn’t know if it was a threat, advice… or a promise, but she drew Gambol Shroud, feeling the familiar pommel shift in her grip.

“You really didn’t think it’d be them, did you?” Sun’s voice was filled with pity, hated pity, and she scowled, before staring sadly at the scene.

"No,” she admitted. “I think deep down—  I knew. You always know. I just didn't want to be right."

And then a familiar voice cracked out like a whip, and electricity thrilled through her blood. _It can’t be…?_

He appeared like his namesake, eyes burning like twin torches in the gloom, a dark smile like a slash across his face. “What’s the holdup, you fools? We're not exactly the most inconspicuous bunch of thieves at the moment, so why don't you animals try to pick up the pace?"

"This isn't right,” she spat, confused as they shuffled about obediently, and Roman Torchwick watched with a contemptuous gleam in his eyes. “The White Fang— Ayran—  would _never_ work with a human, especially not one like _that_." In the red mist of anger, her hands were shaking, and she slashed her weapon through the air, a dark slash of obsidian, before rising into the night.

_The last night, tonight._

_Tonight is the last night I will ever let them take control of my life, my_ home, _again._

She took a deep breath, tilted slightly upward at the edge of the building like she was about to take flight. She let go of a little boy with red hair and gray eyes, of a woman with brown hair and kindly amber eyes who looked just like her, of a terrifying smile underneath a mask. And she locked her heart against their return. Because there was a new tenant within her heart, banishing the ghosts.

_These violent delights have violent ends; and in their triumph die, like fire and powder._

“Hey, what are you doing?” Sun’s alarmed yelp cut through the night, but she heard no more as she stepped off the edge of the building and wind screamed around her. She was falling silently, an angel, wings torn from her back. She landed soundlessly, a jolt running through her, and dashed, keeping low, behind the walls of corrugated Dust crates. She stopped, a current of hatred buzzing like live wires inside of her, glowing white-hot. Torchwick was yelling at a cowering lackey, his cane swinging like an exclamation mark into the night, and it was probably the dumbest thing she’d done since she had jumped on the back of an Ursa and met Yang’s stare, that stare that was challenging and questioning and full of words Blake couldn’t read yet, words she was slowly learning.

But she ran forward anyways.

It was a pleasure to press the knife to his throat, feel his pulse quicken as she jabbed it up under his chin, and she was seized with a wild urge to end it— end it all; but that wasn’t her, and she wasn’t that person _anymore._

“What the f—?”

“Nobody move!” she snarled out, and the movement of guns were arrested midair as she pressed the blade harder to his throat, blood spilling like winking red rubies and trickling down his throat.

He chuckled, the sound humming like a purr through her blade. “Take it easy there, little lady.”

Hatred lashing into her with a vengeance, only tempered by reluctance, she reached up with one hand and tore off her bow angrily. The cloth that she had grown to hate so fluttered away on the night wind, and her ears twitched in the cool, gusty breeze that breathed through her hair. “Brothers of the White Fang, why are you aiding this scum?”

She sensed their reluctance and uncertainty, and despite the fact that she had a knife to their accomplice’s throat, she was a Faunus, and he _wasn’t._ The one time her curse could be an advantage was here, and she planned to exploit that fully.

But Torchwick shuddered with another laugh, a menacing one like a thunderstorm giving way to a cold front. “Kid, didn’t you get the memo?”

Her voice was icy and loud in the night, and she almost didn’t recognize that harshness of her tone. “What are you talking about?”

She felt his smile like a razor slice through the dark, gloating at her ignorance. “The White Fang and I are going in on a joint business venture together, doll…. and I have a feeling it’ll prove to be very lucrative indeed.”

 **“** Tell me what it is, _now_ ,” Blake growled, increasing the pressure on his throat as she heard the infuriating, dancing grin in his voice, “or I'll put an end to your little _operation_."

Suddenly, the air was alive, the night filled with the wild roar of aircrafts descending from the clouds. Blake looked up in horror as they fell like wraiths from the sky, blotting out the stars.

His head tilted back, dark green eyes on the landing aircrafts as they hovered above the scene. “I wouldn't exactly call it a _little_ operation..."

As she was distracted, he gripped his cane and fired it at her feet, and Blake flew backward.

Smoke filled the air as she was thrown back by the shockwave, pain thrumming through her. Dazed, she staggered to her feet, leaped narrowly out of the way of another shot fired at her, and saw him advancing with his hand on the trigger. Seized by a visceral clench of fear, she turned and fled behind the crates.

“Here, kitty kitty!” He shouted into the night, cackling, and she crouched behind the Dust crate with fear threatening to choke her. She was an advanced fighter, of course, but even she couldn’t hold out against a malicious cutthroat and the members of her former organization; it wasn’t _possible,_ and for a moment, she wondered if it really would be the last night of her existence, because he _would_ kill her if he could catch her.

But wait.

There was a growl and then a grunt and then a sickening _crack,_ and Blake peered out and relief flooded her as she saw Sun slam Torchwick into the ground— _ouch_ — before spinning away and springing to his feet, eyes glowing with adrenaline. “Leave her alone,” he snapped. He didn’t looked fazed as the White Fang surrounded him, guns and daggers at the ready.

“You’re not the brightest banana in the bunch,” Torchwick said softly, “are you, kid?”

With that, they fell upon him. He sprang upward, and like his namesake, burned like a sun through the ranks. Blake could hardly keep track of his lightning-swift movements— flashes of red, switches of yellow, before the slack bodies of the unconscious White Fang soldiers slumped on the ground. Sun, barely winded, charged at Torchwick next, a hissing growl rumbling in his throat. They met in a clash of metal on metal, moving at impossible speeds of gunfire and deflections so fast that Blake could only see blurs where they were, interposed with dazzling blazes of light.

She shook off her momentary shock and sprinted out from the crate, all her pain gone in the flames of her rage. In that instant, she knew how Yang felt in battle: it was all fire, liquid fire pulsing through her veins and filling her with the strength of her fury.

She exploded out from behind Sun, a scream of rage torn from her throat. “ _He’s mine!_ ”

Her blade whistled through the air and clashed with the metal of his cane. Roman wasn’t smiling now; all his concentration was focused on fending her off. She battered at him from every front, fury lending speed to her strikes as she flew through the air like a demon. He fought her tooth and nail before she staggered, a harsh blow making her falter, and then he was upon her and grinning once more, a grin devoid of any humour or light. The way they fought was beautiful in the way panthers were beautiful, or shimmering bottles of poison, or polished bones and skulls: terrible and deadly as the depths of night.    
She staggered as he rained down blows without faltering, impeding her sight as he caught her between the shoulders with a manic, snarling laugh. The stinging kiss of heat let her know he’d opened a wound in her back and blood roared in her ears.

Sun flew in, then, disconnecting his staff into a spinning circle of flame in the night, two twin arcs of offense _._ Sun swung each gun at Torchwick while firing everything he had at him, but even with the rapid series of shots and flying bullets, Torchwick managed to defend himself against every bullet and hit until a millisecond-long pause allowed Blake to get a slash in and knock him back.

But her triumph was short-lived. Torchwick merely raised his cane and fired a beacon of swirling light at the fraying rope far above their heads. With a cry of alarm, Blake threw herself backward just as the crate fell with a screaming roar, landing with an earth-shaking crash and sending dust pluming in a blinding storm into the air. She landed on her arm and pain shot through her, as concentrated as lightning. She had twisted it.

“ _Hey!”_

A faint cry fell through the dust and Blake, coughing, eyes streaming, staggered into the clear. _It can’t be…?_

But there she was, outlined against the moon, her face set and grim. Ruby, her scythe standing in an arch of scarlet, looking down at Torchwick. As he was distracted, Sun leapt out from his precarious position and rose.

“Well, hello, Red!” Torchwick smiled up at her, icily. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Blake frowned as she noticed the slight girl— _Penny?—_ standing, just on the edges of her feet, behind Ruby, and then panic as Ruby turned to her and Torchwick snarled, seeing an opportunity as he raised his gun and fired once into the cold night—

“Ruby, look out!” Blake yowled, but it was too late. The shot was perfect, and Ruby flew back with a yelp of pain, her scythe skidding away. Blake tried to move, but pain seized her and she was frozen as Torchwick snickered.

But the other girl—it _was_ Penny _—_ was walking forward slowly, emerging from the night mist with a hard, glinting glare in her eyes. As Blake watched, a fan of curved, deadly looking daggers surrounded her and she backflipped off the building, sailing, impossibly lightly, to the ground. Her blades shot out, knocking White Fang soldiers to the ground.

 _The last night._ Blake looked up at the stars, glittering uncaringly in the sky, before she rose on quivering knees, and watched Penny whip through the shipyard in a deadly rain of fire. As she landed on the ground, she flung the swords at one enemy, impaled another to a wall, created a barrier of spinning steel against a running attack, before leaping over a goon with her swords in tow, and finally making a wheel that she threw to knock multiple Faunus off their feet.

Blake heard Sun whistle in amazement before he turned back to her, hauling her to her feet and helping her to safety in the lee of a Dust crate. She wasn’t in seething agony anymore, of course, but the slash on her back still stung like fury, and bruises were forming all up and down her shoulders. Her arm throbbed. Sun lightly touched the slash between her shoulder blades and his fingers came away black in the moonlight.

“You’re bleeding,” he said darkly, wiping the blood on his shirt as she shook him off. “Are you Bonded with anyone? Can’t you take their strength—”  

“I’m not,” she said shortly, “it doesn’t hurt anymore, anyways.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, before his eyes widened as Penny slammed another legion of soldiers into the ground, her daggers whirling like forks of silvery flame in the night. “Who is that chick? I would hate to get on her bad side.”

“Her name’s Penny,” Blake said, before nodding up to the rooftop, where Ruby was a black shadow, limned in white. “There’s my leader. She found me, I guess, but…” A frown flitted across her face. “Odd. Where are the others?”

Sun scanned the shipyard, the wreckage and flaming debris that lay haphazardly across the ground. “Sorry, but I don’t see anyone else.”

Blake stifled a pang of disappointment. She didn’t _want_ them to find her after all she had done, and her bow was gone, leaving the most reviled part of herself open to the jeering night wind and her own self. She could not hide anymore. She felt _bare—_ not just physically, but like someone had torn down ice encasing her heart, leaving it raw and aching.

She knew she could erect those walls again. Build up her defense mechanisms, freeze everybody out, pretend she was a closed book again.

But even if she refroze herself, she knew ice was never as strong as it had been before it had melted once, and known the light of the sun. She would never be as independent as she once had. First Adam, then Yang, now Sun— giving away little pieces of herself, until she was barely enough of her soul to be left over.

The aircrafts had been decimated by then, and the soldiers all lay either unconscious— or, she thought with a rolling wave of sickness— dead. In death, some of them looked painfully human, though she knew they were not.

_Black and white, human and Faunus, Huntress and mortal. The divisions that separate us come full circle once more._

Ruby trotted towards her with a look of worry before breaking into a run and bowling into her with a hug. “ _Blake,_ I was so worried, we’ve been searching all day, but— you’re okay!” She said it all on one breath and Blake gave a tiny smile as Sun approached at a more leisurely pace, sheathing his staff behind his back.

Blake gently detached herself, back and arm still stinging in pain. “So I am.” She was aware and acutely uncomfortable of Ruby’s eyes straying to the top of her head. “You didn’t have to come.”

Ruby’s eyes were pure silver in the moonlight, confused. “Of course I would! You’re my teammate.”

Blake blinked. “You still—?”

“I saw the explosion,” she explained, “and Penny and I— Weiss and Yang ran off, they’re so _rude—_ well, I had a feeling that you were in trouble. And Faunus or not, you’re still the B to the RWBY. Team RWY sounds pretty stupid, doesn’t it?” Ruby’s tone sobered. “My parents taught me to see the similarities in people, not the differences. You’re Blake, and you’re a part of our team. A big part. We need you, whether you’re a Faunus or not— that doesn’t matter.”

Blake didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded.

Sun looked like he was going to make a joke to lighten the mood before the piercing wail of a siren shattered the oppressing swelling of the waves, escalating into the night. “We’d better get out of here,” he said, eyes luminous as he looked out over the shipyard, dark shadows cutting across his jaw. “The police’ll be here any second.”

“We aren’t the criminals, though,” Ruby said, following and offering to help Blake as her arm gave a stab of pain. Blake refused the offer. Her eyes were still stinging, and not from the brackish sea salt blowing through the air.

 _Adam, you once said that family was not formed by blood, but by bonds. I hate to think it, but…_ She glanced at Ruby, chatting with a somber-looking Penny, to Sun, frowning apprehensively out at the silent shipyard, at the night sky, the moon breathing in the stars. She thought of Weiss and then of Adam, his face becoming more and more like stone the older they grew, of Ayran and her parents and of then of Yang, her constant. If Blake was the darkness, Yang was the steady light burning like a star through the void. The sun and the moon. _You were right._

They were the sun and the moon, right? And there were such things as eclipses.  


* * *

 

The streetlights had come on, and the drone of walkie-talkies and the murmur of the local police enforcement filled the air. Ruby swung her legs in an unsteady rhythm against the dilapidated crates, but Blake couldn’t find the energy to ask her to stop. All she could think of was how _disappointed_ Yang would be, seeing her like this, bruised and bleeding. As if in agreement, the wind blew more harshly, stinging against her ears— and they flattened in discomfort.

She checked her Scroll. _Nine missed calls, twelve messages._

Seven from Yang. Two from Ruby. None from Weiss. All the messages were from Yang, predictably.

 

 **_10:18 PM, Yang:_ ** _Where are you?_

 **_10:32 PM, Yang:_ ** _Blake?_

 **_12:21 AM, Yang:_ ** _Please, answer me._

 **_3:36 AM, Yang:_ ** _Anything. I need to know you’re ok._

 **_9:27 AM, Yang:_ ** _It’s the second day and I haven’t heard back from you. Ruby’s worried sick. Weiss looks like she regrets it._

 **_1:11 PM, Yang:_ ** _It doesn’t look like you’re getting these, but, u know… you might anyways. I’m worried about you. Where are you, Blake?_

 **_2:02 PM, Yang:_ ** _Blake, listen. I don’t care about you being a Faunus— or anything that might have happened. You’re my partner, ok? Always._

 **_4:19 PM, Yang:_ ** _We’re not Bonded, so I can’t feel where you are. Funnily enough, that’s not what bothers me. It’s that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. Either way, you should know that it doesn’t matter to me who you were, but who you are now._

 **_5:30 PM, Yang:_ ** _sigh. I suppose you really are gone…_

 **_5:31 PM, Yang:_ ** _Are you going to come back? like, ever? You promised me on the cliffs to try for me. So try, ok?_

 **_6:01 PM, Yang:_ ** _Faunus, White Fang, or human, you’re my PARTNER. You have to._

 **_6:19 PM, Yang:_ ** _I need you to come home._

It ended there, on a reprieve. Blake felt a sick feeling in her chest. How worried had Yang been? And she had ignored it all, swamped in her own cowardice. She’d poured out her secrets— nay, her entire _past—_ to a virtual stranger because she knew he could hardly judge her for it. And if he did, she could leave easily, with no harm done. But Yang— was she scared of her own partner?

No. She was scared of _failing_ her.

Ruby stiffened and craned her head over the tops of the flashing police cars, eyes glowing in the chasing lights of blue and red. “There they are.”

Blake’s heart crawled to the top of her throat. She hadn't quite thought this far ahead. “How—?”

“Oops.” Ruby shot her a guilty look. “I, uh, may’ve sent Yang a message or two.”

“Or twenty,” Sun snickered, looking over Ruby’s shoulder to her Scroll. “Your contact name for her is ' _yangarang_ ', my God. ' _WE FOUND HER AND SHE HAS CAT EARS OMG!!!1!!1!!!’—_ priceless.” He piped down as Blake shot him a cold golden glare.

They all rose as Weiss emerged from the fog, followed by Yang, footsteps like gunshots in the buzz of white noise. Blake steeled herself as they drew near.

Yang’s gaze was coolly unreadable, but a hint of anger shimmered there, seething like a thunderstorm due to break. Blake shot a glance at Weiss, who was watching without a hint of expression except for maybe reproach, and she cleared her throat awkwardly over the silence that had descended over the six of them.

“Can we— can we talk?”

Yang led her a few paces away from the group, to the front of the police car. Her face was stern, hair yanked back over her shoulders in sporadic layers of gold. She straightened, gaze flicking across Blake’s face before she spoke. “Go ahead,” she said, and Blake could see her jaw grinding. “Talk.”

Her anger was so unprecedented that Blake didn’t know how to react for several moments, just staring at her. She had never really seen Yang _mad_ before, even at the cliffs. At the least, she’d had a degree of fire in her words. But this was like a sword without a sheath pointed straight at Blake’s face. Blake swallowed, trying to regain herself before she spoke. “There was a fight just now with Torchwick and his lummoxes. I almost got killed.”

Yang faltered. Her mean front shattered and broke at her feet as she looked down at them. Yang wasn’t a naturally hostile person; Blake bet she had been trying to act like her, when she was always cool and frosty at something, but Yang couldn’t master it like Blake could. “Are you hurt?”

Blake looked down at her feet, at her hands, stained faintly red in the moonlight, before she indicated to her bruises and the scores along her arms. She heard Yang’s breath catch.

“Nothing major,” Blake told her. “Just a few wounds. Ruby and her friend showed up, probably saved our lives.”

Yang crumpled like paper, the anger in her eyes dissolving to hurt— and relief. However much she pretended, she couldn’t keep up a cold front to her partner. “He— did he— ”  

“Yes, the mongrel got away.” Blake studied her partner as she narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t pointing out how Blake had behaved as the epitome of a coward by fleeing and maintaining radio silence— no, Yang was far too selfless for that. She was still worried, and for the first time, Blake felt shame at her actions.

“Hey,” Yang blew out a shaky breath, her eyes flickering up to the flattened ears on Blake’s head. She was pallid in the dim light, almost ghostly so; fragile— like at any moment, she might shatter, and before Blake could say anything more, Yang was pulling her into an crushing embrace, like she was trying to enfold the two of them into one person. She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘you _asshole—_ been looking all weekend— never do that again’, her breaths bated.  

“I’m sorry,” Blake whispered, smoothing a hand down Yang’s back, ignoring her own wounds crying out in protest. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“I just—“ Yang pulled away, her voice uneven. Her eyes were shiny and reflective like a cat’s— too bright with tears.  “I saw the smoke and I just _knew._ Blake, if something happened to you—“

“Hey, Ozpin did say we would be stuck together for four years,” Blake said, giving her a weak smile, though she was consciously aware of the others murmuring behind her. Not for the first time, she cursed at her foolishness in discarding her bow. “I plan on seeing it through. Twelve texts was a little over-enthusiastic, though.”

Yang socked her in the arm. “Don’t ever run off again, Blake.” Her eyes grew solemn, studying Blake’s face as if they would yield answers. “Not on me. We’re _partners._ And I— well, you know that I won’t judge you for being a Faunus. You _do_ know that, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I know.”

“You don’t have to be scared of it anymore.”

Blake smiled, though her sadness rang through it, written all over her face. “We’ve all got our secrets.” Yang’s eyes flickered with shadows at that, but Blake— all the worry and exhaustion hitting her at once, like a sack of bricks— couldn’t wonder at it. She knew Yang was more perceptive and was more complex than she let on, but you couldn’t prise the secrets from anyone. They had to come out in their own way— or, like hers, in their own fury.

She felt a little less burdened, a heaviness she hadn’t even known she had been carrying lifted from her shoulders.   _You were never meant to be Atlas, bearing all that weight on your own._

“Come on,” Yang said, blowing out a heavy breath between her teeth. “Weiss wants to talk to you.”

“I’ll bet she does,” Blake muttered, “or _scream_ at me.” Following Yang back to the group, she steeled herself for the surely forthcoming onslaught of prejudice and reprimands. She noticed that Penny had vanished, but there was no time to speculate on it, because Weiss had risen and was standing stiffly by a crate stamped with _THIS END UP,_ her eyes resting coolly on Blake.

“Weiss,” Blake said firmly, resolute to see this through, after all her vows— the last night of lies, of secrecy, of hiding. “I want you to know that I'm no longer associated with the White Fang. Back when I was with the—“

“ _Stop.”_ Her voice lashed out like a whip, stopping Blake in her tracks. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been searching for you?”

Another pang of shame fluttered through Blake, but before she answered, Weiss continued, her eyes flinty. “ _Twelve_ hours. That means I've had twelve hours to think about this. And in that twelve hours, I've decided..."

She hesitated, and Blake’s heart slammed against her ribs, but then Weiss’s face shifted, becoming less like ice and more like the sun melting it away into snowmelt, and she said calmly, “I don’t _care_ about it— any of it.”

Surprise lit her, briefly effacing her concern. Unable to comprehend, she blinked at Weiss. “You— don’t care?”

“You said you’re not one of them anymore, correct?”

“N— no, I haven’t been since I was—”

Weiss slashed her arm downward, effectively silencing her as her eyes flashed in the moonlight. “No, no. I don’t want to hear it. All I need to know is that next time something like this happens— something that could compromise _our team—_ you’ll come to _us_. And not some—“ She looked at a somber Sun. “Not someone else.”

The sharp prickling in Blake’s eyes threatened to spill over as Ruby and Yang grinned at her, and she thought of these three people, her team, who had somehow become her family in these few weeks. People she trusted, with this, her darkest secret, and somehow… she wasn’t scared of it anymore. and she hastily wiped at her eyes, her voice catching. “Of course.”

The moment hung, solemn, until Ruby screamed and flung her arms about wildly.

“ _BOOYAH!_ Team RWBY is back _together_!”

Yang gave her a judging look, and crossed her arms with an arched eyebrow. “ _Booyah?_ We’re not in the 1800’s, Rubes— ”

Weiss stabbed an accusing finger into Sun’s chest, and he reeled back nervously. “I’m still not quite sure how I feel about you!”

“Um, thank you… I think.” He quirked a smile at her, flicking his tail across the crates as the wind creaked coldly in the trees. His reply was cut off as Ruby strained to look over the crates with a furrow in her brow. “Wait, where’d Penny go?”

“Probably ran off,” Yang suggested, her eyes multicolored in the whirring lights. “She didn’t seem very… grounded.”

“Oh,” Ruby said, disappointment in her voice. “I wish I could’ve thanked her— she was really something during the fight—“

“That’s putting it lightly,” Sun said with a laugh, idly running a hand down the staff at his waist, before he turned to her.  

“Psst.” He tapped her on the shoulder, and grinned dashingly at her, eyes sparkling gray, like the clouds that rolled off the sea at dawn, and he engulfed her in a crushing hug. “We _didn’t_ get our asses kicked by that piece of scum! That’s pretty damn good, in my opinion. I was worried.” He lingered, still grinning crookedly, the bright rosy-gold fingertips of dawn staining the horizon, brushing his hair, turning it to a pale tousle of sandy-gold. She smiled faintly back at him. She still ached all over, and the singed scent of Dust was acrid in the air, but she was okay, and Sun was okay, and they were unscathed. That was enough.

When Blake glanced back for a moment, she saw Yang turning away from the two of them with a bleak look on her face, as if the brightness of the rising moon hurt her eyes.


	12. Chapter XI - Fading Echoes

_**Yang** _

It was hard to believe that it was the second semester already.

The Vytal Festival was soon. Missions were coming up, and other teams from Haven, Shade, and Atlas were flooding in. It still took some getting used to, seeing all the new faces in the halls, all of them different. Enough to make anyone really truly _envisage_ the might and prestige of the Huntsmen and Huntresses worldwide.

Yang absentmindedly stirred the white whips of mashed potatoes on her tray. Already, so much had happened: she had gained a partner, learned more about herself, fought in more battles she’d ever endured at Signal, seen her team have rifts in itself more than twice, and found a friend— but more than that, someone who made her heart sing. It had been the night she’d found Blake, bruises on her arms and blood darkening her clothes, in the shipyard. The night they had reconciled all their differences as a team and all gained a common ground—together. Yang had seen Sun look at Blake a little too warmly and then— _bam!_ Like the recoil of a gun, it had hit her all at once: the tightening grip of envy, the realization. She _always_ had Blake to worry about; her partner was reckless, but now it was different, somehow.

Without thinking too much about it, Yang extended one hand and bushed a loop of black hair off of Blake’s forehead. Her fingertips lingered on her warm skin a moment too long and she jerked back, almost violently, but Blake was so lost in her book, she didn’t pay any attention. Yang turned so her back was to Blake, staring at the wall on the other side of the cafeteria.

Something was swelling in her chest. Something dangerous, she was sure.

Yang didn’t notice she was chewing her lip until the sharp, metallic taste of blood sliced down on her tongue. Grinding her teeth, she gripped the edge of the table, hard, like it was a precipice she was dangling off of.

She had had plenty of friends her whole life. Yang didn’t like to honk her own horn, but people had always seemed to like her, to gravitate towards her, so to speak, like moths to a flame. It wasn’t surprising, Taiyang had told her— she emitted a nurturing, soothing sort of warmth, just like Summer Rose. She knew what it felt like to have a friendship— warm and comforting and sweet, like what she had built with Ruby, even Weiss, and some of her other casual acquaintances around Beacon. She liked spending time with them, they made her happy, and she knew she could trust and rely on them whenever she needed to.

She also knew what it felt like when she had a crush.

Turning her head to the left, Yang tried to subtly observe Blake’s expression. All the stern lines that she usually had, even when happy, faded away while she was buried in a book. It was all smoothed out and relaxed. Blake liked to read; that wasn’t a secret, but Yang sometimes wondered if she loved all the fantastical, whimsical worlds, because they were an escape from her own.

It made Yang want to punch something. _Good going, brainless,_ Yang scolded herself, _picking the one person you know won’t want you back._

Because Blake was a hell of a lot more open with her now, at least, but it wasn’t as though they were a seamless team— a Bonded one. There would be instances when she was altogether too strongly reminded of how little she truly knew about her partner: Yang would ask Blake a question, and she’d get a glint in her eyes like a cornered animal. She would say something carelessly, and Blake would stalk from the room. Of course there was _always_ the matter of Blake to attend to.

She rubbed her temples and plunked her head down with a groan, promptly jolting the table.

“You know, I don’t think remedying a headache is done that way, Yang.” Blake’s cool, unfazed voice was accompanied with a light tap to her shoulder. Yang turned her head around and peeled one eye open, glaring at the source of her current inner turmoil, who was sitting in a ray of sunlight and grinning fastidiously at Yang in a way that accentuated her pretty face and— _ugh._

Grumbling at her inner soliloquy, Yang sat back up and knocked her elbow into Blake’s. “Your sarcasm really sucks, you _asshole_.”

“So I’ve been told by you,” Blake retorted tonelessly. “ _Multiple_ times, in fact.” She neatly folded back the edge of her book page and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no—here comes the herald of our doom.”

Yang blinked and whirled around, spying a truly terrifying sight that could strike the fear of God into an entire army: Ruby, bouncing towards them with a manic grin plastered on her face and a thick binder pinned between her ribs and forearm. “Please,” Yang said, “God, no.”

“Gooooooood morning Team RWBY!” Ruby shrieked, slamming the binder down with a table-shaking crash. Blake let out a groan, slowly pushing her tray away and eyeing the binder like it was a feral animal that might attack at any moment. Yang glanced at her. She would have thought Blake would be reassured after the fight in the shipyard, if anything: she’d stopped a crime, gained a friend, reconciled her differences with the team, and been accepted as a Faunus. But that hadn’t happened. Blake seemed to grow gaunter, more tired; there was a darkness in her eyes that was new, nervous tremors that she’d picked up as habit. She would look around like someone was going to attack her at any moment. And most of all, it was very hard to miss the quiet, pensive attitude she had adopted; she always seemed to be lost in her thoughts now. Something had spooked her in the shipyard, but when Yang queried about it, Blake would brush her off with a simple, _It’s all right; I’m just tired._

“Is that my binder?” Weiss’s voice was indignant, and Ruby looked sheepish.

“Maybe once upon it time it _was_ ,” she admitted, “but now it’s the container of the best ideas I’ve ever come up with!” She shoved it forward, stabbing a finger on the red-scrawled cover for emphasis. “Ladies and ladies, four score and seven minutes ago, I had a dream that we— as a _team—_ would have the most fun anyone has ever had— well, ever!”

“I had a dream that I was being chased by a giant, raw chicken nugget that had the face of Zwei,” Yang supplied. “Not all of our dreams come true. Fortunately,” she added hastily as three looks of disgust were turned on her, “I was joking. In fact, forget I said anything.”

Ruby brushed off her comment. “Guys, the second semester has started, and with more exchange kids coming and the tournament at the end of the year, we’re not gonna have a lot of time to, well, have fun. So we should start the semester off with a bang!”

Blake and Weiss immediately started to shout in protest as Yang grinned, a sure precursor to a pun, and Ruby realized her mistake too late, opening her mouth to either swear or scream for help, but Yang said, “I always start my semesters off with a _Yang_! Eh…. right, guys?”

“Please kill me,” Blake said with a long-suffering look, while Weiss whispered something that rhymed with “oh my ducking _God,”_ while Ruby banged her hand down on the table. “SHUT UP, YANG. YOU’RE NOT FUNNY.”

“Hmph.” Yang frowned and rubbed her gauntlets before looking at Ruby, who had assumed a pleading look. “So what’s this stellar idea you’ve got, little sis?”

Ruby snatched the empty milk carton that Yang had discarded and held it up with a slow grin spreading across her face. _“Food fight.”  
_

 

* * *

 

“Pssst. Red flower to flaming banana and shadow cat. Testing. Testing.”

“We’re not using code names, Ruby. Roger that. And don’t call me flaming banana. It brings up images of a fiery, homosexual fruit.” Yang craned her head around and grinned at an uncomfortable looking Weiss, a sighing Blake, and a snickering Ruby. “Besides, I doubt Blake is fond of being called— what was it?”

“Shadow cat,” Blake mumbled reluctantly, her bow twitching, and Yang stifled a laugh, killed her grin, and peered around the veritable mountain of cafeteria tables.

“Okay. Positions,” Ruby whispered. “Check, Yang.”

“Nora’s cackling really evilly about castles, and she’s perched on the other tables. Ren looks like he wants to get her down, and he’s by the windows. Pyrrha’s staring longingly at Jaune— er, sorry, now she’s shoving vending machines to the front of the tables— she’s _strong,_ wow— Jaune is standing around like a potato— sorry, Jaune.”

Yang shifted backward, letting Weiss slip to the front. Blake looked lost in her thoughts again— when did she not, nowadays?

“Hey.” Yang sidled up to her and met her gaze. “You alright?”

Blake swirled towards her, held her eyes in silence, hesitating. She looked like she wanted to speak, before she shook her head mutely and muttered, “I’m fine.”

“Really?” Yang poked her in the stomach, and Blake edged away. “Cause you _seem_ broody to me.”

Blake opened her mouth to reply— probably a scathing diatribe— but before she could make a response, Ruby’s shriek rang out through the air, startling Yang and Blake so badly that they jumped, simultaneously crashing into each other. Blushing, Yang edged away before Ruby followed up with a more articulate command of “ _attack!”_

 

* * *

 

Quite predictably, they got yelled at by Goodwitch.

She got as far as, “ _Waste_ of food— never in my life seen such immaturity— _destroy_ our reputable reputation— ” before Ozpin interrupted her, and gently steered her from the room, but not before she’d throughly scolded them into a silence that lasted approximately ten seconds before Jaune had spat part of banana peel onto the ground, and they’d erupted in laughter.

Yang was sore because she had gone _sailing into the freaking ceiling at the speed to shatter stone_ and accidentally crashed right into Blake in her descent, knocking both of them to the ground. All of them were smeared in various foods, though thankfully, Yang wasn’t nearly so bad off as any of JNPR. They looked, she thought wryly, like they’d been blasted with a rainbow bomb, not unlike the ones Nora fired from Magnhild. Pyrrha laughed it off, but Jaune was surly at the “irremovable” ketchup stain that had been smashed in his hair.

“At least it wasn’t a container of sauerkraut,” Nora had snapped at him, soaked with the stuff, and they had filed out in a very interesting, drippy procession.

RWBY had gone back to their room, with Ruby fussing over Weiss all the way over her supposed ‘ _grievous injury resulting from smashing into a_ freaking pillar, _seriously how are you still walking_ ’ and so, Yang was left to shuffle along with Blake, who had a piece of tuna stuck to her arm, which she didn’t look all that bothered about. More cat genetics, Yang supposed.

It was hard to ignore the butterflies in her stomach ever since she’d come back from the shipyard. Hard, but doable. But then one look from Blake, one turn of phrase or grin, and they’d be all aflutter again, swirling and rustling wings.

It wasn’t like Blake wasn’t worth it. Of course, superficially, she was beautiful; no one could dispute that— dark amber eyes, angular visage, chasing hair like the flapping of raven’s wings. But she was so much more than that, of her looks and icy attitude. Under that exterior was someone Yang wanted to know, someone warm and full of life.

The butterflies when Blake’s proximity was less than a foot away and grinning at her with a glitter in her eyes? They weren’t butterflies. More like rumbling aircrafts, jet planes.

“I could shower for days and I still wouldn’t get all this out of my hair,” Blake grumbled.

“At least you weren’t hurled into the ceiling at terminal velocity.”

“Oh right, I forgot. Did you tell the birds hello for me?” She grinned, a grin that crooked higher at one side of her mouth than the other, and Yang was acutely aware of the expanding warmth in her chest.

“Yeah, real smart, tell the birds hello from a freaking _cat._ I was a little too busy screaming my head off,” she retorted before entering the baths. They were thankfully vacant; though one of the faucets was dripping annoyingly, and Yang crossed to shut it off, glimpsing herself in the mirror. Blake snickered as her jaw dropped.

“All those looks,” she said, “down the drain. Must be pretty disheartening, Xiao Long.”

“Shut _up,_ you absolute _fiend.”_ Yang turned around, and oh no, that was a big mistake, because Blake was undressing to get into the shower and— _dammit._

She spun around quickly, so that Yang could see the sharp and angular movement of her shoulder blades and the roll of muscles rippling down her back. Yang’s eyes seemed frozen, unable to look away, from the golden kiss of the dying sunlight on the slopes of Blake’s shoulders to her collarbones and the flat plane of her stomach, lightly layered with muscle. Her heart felt odd and wrong, lightly tripping and pattering, and she felt something like sickness drop into her stomach. There were two sharp indentions below Blake’s hipbones, like someone had pressed their thumbs hard there; the narrowing of her hips and the hollow of her solar plexus were alive with an interplay of light and dark. When Blake turned around, eyes two molten coronas of gold, Yang felt her tongue heavy and awkward in her mouth. 

“You’re staring at me,” Blake told her, a fine line of a furrow creasing her brow. “It’s not like you look any better. We _are_ covered in a veritable mix of toxins, after all.” 

Yang quickly averted her eyes, coloring along her cheekbones. The sick feeling intensified. “ _Hilarious._ I wasn’t staring.” 

Blake’s frown was flitting, barely a shadow and easily missed if you didn’t know her well. Yang saw it anyways. “Well, good luck with your agonizing on your own time. Try not to philosophize too much, okay?” She tossed the towel over her shoulder— a deft movement, and Yang closed her eyes and took a calming breath— and then vanished into the shower. As soon as the lock bolted home, Yang sank back against the rim of the sink, a sigh escaping from somewhere deep inside of her, loosing the tight knots and unravelling a ball of tension in the pit of her stomach. 

_This crush thing is really legit, then._

“Well,” she said softly with conviction, aloud to herself, “You, Yang Xiao Long, are absolutely and utterly one-hundred percent _screwed.”_

 

* * *

 

**_Blake_ **

The pencil darted across the paper, trailing smooth, curving lines blossoming in quick succession, before Blake stopped and frowned at the drawing.

Of Yang, of course. She was all Blake could think about. She filled her mind like a goddamn  _tree,_ branching out and fanning wide boughs of life into her thoughts. Each stray thought was a replenishment. But she didn’t want to think about Yang because that would make this— this feeling— whatever it was, real, and that, above all, was something that frightened her the most.

She tried to look at Yang with an artist’s eye, to capture the life in her face, the slightness of her grin; but she’d always get lost in little details: the fine curling gold of her hair near her neck, the curve of her mouth, the slivers of darker color that peppered her eyes. She just couldn’t get it right, and it was probably because nothing really could _capture_ what made Yang who she was: that sense of gold tempered by fire, of hardships and secrets. Blake let her pencil fall and shut the sketchbook, shoving between the frame of the bed and the mattress. 

God, what was _wrong_ with her? What had changed? When had she stopped seeing Yang as a partner, but as something… _more._

It didn’t matter, she told herself firmly, turning over and staring at the blank wall, her hands drumming, folding, crossing and uncrossing over the sheets. Yang was… light, if anything. She didn’t need darkness to drag her down. She had everything and Blake could not offer her more; had she not proved already that she hadn’t trusted Yang once? 

There was certainly a lot more than her partner to be worried about, anyways. The White Fang, the robberies, the fleet of militia aircrafts she’d seen in the sky that very morning… Something was happening. A tension in the air had fallen over Remnant, the way air stiffened before a storm began and all hell broke loose. But she had no idea what it was. What use was preparation when you had no idea what was going to attack? 

“Blake? Are ya awake?” 

She grunted a passable ‘yes’ before blinking up as an upside-down head bobbed in front of the bunk bed, blocking out the light. “Can I help you?” 

“Whatcha doing?” Yang drew out the o in a croon and Blake rolled her eyes. 

“Breathing. Sitting in _my_ bed, which is more than you can say,” she said with the slightest grin, poking Yang in the stomach. Yang yelped and slipped a few inches, throwing a frown at Blake, which looked like a smile when it was upside-down. 

“I could,” she puffed, “have fallen.” Her shirt fell a little bit.  You rarely saw a body like that outside of magazine spreads. Some people had six-packs; Yang appeared to have a twelve-pack. It didn’t look humanly possible.  Blake swiftly averted her gaze. “Look, I have a question.” 

“Fire away.” 

“Could you give me a lesson on how to use blades?” 

Her tone registered her disbelief. “Come again?”

“No, Blake, I’m serious! Taiyang always told me it’s good to be efficient in all forms of fighting. Like, what if I was stuck in a tight corner and I didn’t have Ember Celica?” 

“So why would you so happen to have a blade?” Blake smiled at her and Yang pouted. “Alright, conceded. I see your point. Are you sure that this isn’t just an excuse to spend time with me?”

“Well, that’s a bonus, of course,” Yang said brightly, before flipping herself upward and out of sight, leaving Blake to stare, dumbfounded, at the place she’d been moments before.  


 

* * *

 

**_Yang_**

“It’s pretty late to be up here. What if we get caught?”

“Quit _worrying,_ Blake,” Yang huffed, shouldering open the door. “Jeez, you’re worse than Weiss.”

“It’s not worrying. It’s a valid concern.”

“Well, shove those concerns away.” Yang grinned at the circular, abandoned training room, the dim red light of sunset bathing it in a crimson glow. “Throw ‘em off this topmost tower, as it were.”

“This is a turret, not a tower,” Blake pointed out, looking up at the conical ceiling, encircled with beams. She was frowning. “Besides, there’s a curfew. Don’t you know that?”

“That’s just so the foreign kids and Beacon’s students aren’t sneaking around canoodling after hours,” Yang scoffed, kicking the door closed with a loud _snap,_ the sound reverberating in the dusty room, sending dust motes swirling up and up like tornadoes in the shafts of autumn light. “They can hardly chastise us for practicing combat, anyways.” 

_“Canoodling?”_

“Yeah, sure. It’s a dictionary word, look it up sometime. Though I would have thought you might have run across it in that smut-galore fest of a book — _Ninjas of Love_ — ” She turned around and raised a brow as Blake withdrew her Scroll and began tapping something into it with a determined look, completely ignoring Yang’s comment. “Are you for real?”

“Quite. And it would seem that you are as well. I see I am misinformed. It _is_ a word.” She cleared her throat. “Canoodle: _to kiss and cuddle amorously.”_

“You are the _worst,”_ Yang groaned. _This was probably a terrible idea._

“You love it anyways,” Blake countered, and Yang grinned at her, because she did. “So,” she continued casually, unsheathing Gambol Shroud, “which one of us is the foreigner, then? Just so we’re clear.” 

Caught off-guard, Yang struggled not to flush. “What?” 

Blake burst out laughing at the horror-stricken expression on her face. It was an great sound, Yang decided — like audible sunlight. “Only joking. Is the thought of _canoodling_ so fear-inspiring to you?” 

_What’s horrifying is the fact that I might actually just die from embarrassment or swoon down, that’s what._ Yang muttered an insult before walking to the dusty rack of bows, machetes, and daggers before picking a simple blade, bound in leather at the pommel, a single dark stone sunk into the hilt. “Try not to chop my arms off,” she said. “I like my arms. I _need_ my arms.” 

“I’ll try not to,” Blake said, scowling. “I _do_ wield a fair bit of control over my weapon, you know. Enough to know that this is a bad idea, but if you _insist…”_

“I do.” Yang frowned down at the dagger. It felt unfamiliar, like another limb not responding to her. “Throwback — so how exactly do I do the _swingy-swingy sword gun_ thing?” 

“I wish you would forget that,” Blake said with a long-suffering groan, clicking the weapon into the double-edged blades before crossing them over her chest. “It hurts the intellectual in my soul.” 

“You haven’t answered my question, and for your information, I have a high grade in linguistics, so _ha —_ take that, nerd.” 

Blake rolled her eyes. “First of all, you’re holding the knife wrong. You just have it in a loose grip. Anyone could knock it out. Press your thumb to the pommel, so the tip is pressing the hilt, and curl your fingers around it. Yes— there you go.” 

“This feels weird.” 

“It’s bound to do so at first, but trust me, Yang.”

And so they went on, with the measure of Yang horrendously failing as Blake had successfully disarmed her ten times in five seconds flat. The eleventh time, she put up a better fight — succeeding in dodging Blake— but nevertheless, it was still over in seconds: Blake did a twisting motion with her arm, sending the knife clattering to the floor. Yang huffed with breath before she realized how close Blake was, and that, of course, made blood rush to her cheeks. “You’re used to a brawling style, Yang, going straight in and relying on strength alone to ensure victory. It’s a decent approach, but with this — you need subtlety.” 

“That’s not my forte, Blake.”

“That’s why I’m here.” The smile that flashed across her face seemed laced with something — tiredness, a tint of sorrow. “Weapons must be used like lines of poetry, straight and true, never missing.” She turned and nodded at a seam in the wall. “Accuracy isn’t so hard. Go on.  Give it a try.” 

Yang drew her arm back, pausing as she felt her muscles align. _Now_ , a voice within her seemed to whisper, and she tensed before arcing her fist downward and unfurling her fingers, the knife hurling itself end over end out of her grasp. It flew past, a darting flash of light singing like a teardrop of fire before it sunk, point in, quivering in the seams of the wall. A splinter of wood flaked down. 

Blake didn’t smile, but her slanted eyes fixed jarringly gold on Yang. At this angle, she could see the darker shadows hazed in her irises, the glittering flecks of amber and copper that were scattered in the coronas of color. Blake was just an inch shorter than her, but there seemed to be miles between them, a slow ascension that would never quite be evenly matched. “Well done.” 

“I think I’ll stick with my own semblance,” she joked, walking over and yanking the knife from the wall before sheathing it in its own scabbard. “Fire never fails you.”

“In the cold of night?” Blake’s grin was flitting, but there was still a sadness in her eyes; it lurked there like a promise. “What about in the rain, what about winter—“ 

“If that’s a jibe on Weiss, I’m sure she wouldn’t be happy to hear it.” 

“It’s a simple fact, Yang. Shadows will always be there.”

“Okay, Socrates. That’s a very profound thought. Do feel free to enlighten me again.” They shared in laughter for a few seconds before Blake’s gaze became serious again. 

“There’s a day coming when you may need every skill to keep yourself alive.” She got that look in her face— it made Yang wonder, at how she’d known Blake long enough to identify certain shifts in her moods— that impossibly remote look she got when troubled, and she broke off, biting her lip before saying quietly, “Yang, I just—“ She struggled, her voice breaking. “I’ve never been afraid of anyone like this before.” 

“The White Fang?”

Blake’s face grew stormy. “No, they’re… they have emotions and humanity, if only just so. There’s a fear greater than emotion building in the air. Something’s happening. Some _one._ I didn’t get to pry it out of Roman before he shot me halfway across the shipyard.” 

“Something more than the White Fang stealing Dust, do you mean?” 

“I’m sure of it,” Blake growled, before she peeled away and stalked to the door, looking over her shoulder. All at once, walls slammed down between them. “Anyways. I’ll be in the library.”

And Yang was left staring at the gently vibrating door, humming from the fading echoes of how she still was unable to comprehend who, exactly, Blake was. After all, Blake had that look on her face. One that was a streak in some people that Yang had seen all too often: self sacrifice. Blake wouldn’t rest until she’d figured out the mysteries, Yang was sure of it. But to stop her? Easier said than done.  Trying to dissuade her from being all nobly self-sacrificial would be like trying to single-handedly move the statue in the courtyard. And Yang had tried. It simply couldn’t be done. Not without severe determination and an uncanny ability to scope out the weak points of the whole matter.

But Yang was privy to Blake’s innermost emotions, and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to give it a shot.

After all, Taiyang had always impressed upon her that her worst flaw and her best trait was her relentless determination.


	13. Chapter XII - No Weapon in This World

**_Blake_ **

Trying to tune out the sound of her team while they were playing _Conquerers of Remnant_ was like trying to ignore the sound of an avalanche. Between Weiss’s sighing and evil laughter, Ruby’s wailing, and Yang’s cheers of menace, it was hard to hear herself think.

She was reading, of course, but not thinking. She would read a line, and realize she hadn’t taken in any of it. It was hard to, enormously hard, when the only things that seemed to occupy her thoughts were Yang and the menacing words of Torchwick. One she was more than willing to think about— the other, not so much.

The girl in question raised her head and beckoned to Blake with a little silver statuette. “Come on, Blake, you’re missing out!”

“I’m fine, thanks,” she said, hardly recognizing the formality of her voice. Yang was about to reply before they all quieted, as the sound of someone knocking on the door split through the room. Ruby donned a somewhat-sober expression and rose, opening the door.

“I’m sorry for the— oh.” Blake looked up at the surprise in Ruby’s voice. “Professor Goodwitch. Is something wrong?”

 _What’s she doing here?_ Blake pondered. The professors were loathe to visit the students’ dorms, especially on weekends. As the stern faced Huntress eyed the scattered pieces of the board game and a guilty-looking Weiss and Yang with a raised eyebrow. “I see I am… intruding on a very enlightening game,” she said, a hint of reproach in her voice. “I feel studying would be more appropriate at this hour.” She fixed her glasses and looked sternly at them. “However, that is not why I came.”

“Is there - something wrong?” Ruby asked nervously.

Goodwitch looked past Ruby, her eyes landing on Blake, icy and blank. “In a way,” she said. “I have come for Miss Belladonna.”  
 

* * *

**_  
Yang_ **

Yang slowly set her Vacuo warrior figurepiece down and looked at Blake. Her partner had frozen, eyes narrowed, before she stepped off the bunk bed and set her book down with such precision, you almost would believe it might detonate at any moment. “I’m sorry, Professor?”

Goodwitch consulted her Scroll before examining Blake from above the rims of her glasses. “Miss Belladonna, Professor Ozpin has requested to have a word with you about the… incidents that transpired a short while ago in downtown Vale and the shipyard. He has been very busy as of late, but he has, of course, intimated that he desires an audience with you. He is curious about the… violence that occurred.” Her eyes glittered before she added reluctantly, “You have a right to decline, of course. The headmaster would not want to force—“

"I'll go,” Blake said. There was a firmness in her tone, devoid of anger, that surprised Yang. She seemed to be looking past Professor Goodwitch, a light flickering in her eyes, as if of reflected fire. She wouldn’t look Yang’s way, but she saw Blake’s muscles coil just like a cat readying to flee, but her jaw’s set was stony. 

In that moment Yang couldn't help but think that she looked very like the cold shell of an angry Faunus, every bit like the person she claimed she was not.

 

* * *

 

**_Blake_ **

Blake stared at her hands, folded on the cold table. Moonlight shone down, reflecting off of each scar, some from battles, some not. In the webbing lattice of silver, she felt more trapped than ever— but this war was not one that any strength could win. 

“I must apologize for the late hour.” 

Blake looked up sharply, surprised, as Ozpin’s voice rang out in the room. He appeared in the doorway, as always, with his mechanized silvery cane and the coffee cup bearing the crest of crossed axes and an olive wreath. _War and peace._

“I’m sure that after a taxing incident of truly fighting for the first time, without rules, you must want to go back to your dorm and rest with your team. But I was hoping we could have a chance to talk.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Wonderful.” He took his seat, observing her closely over his glasses. “As you know, in order to enroll at my academy, students must first pass a rigorous entrance exam. Most applicants spend years of preparation training at one of the many combat schools around the world. You are one of the few that did not. And you passed the exam with flying colors.”

“I was raised outside of the kingdoms,” she said warily, drumming her fingers on the steel edge of the table. “If you’re not able to fight, you don’t survive.”

“You have most certainly survived, Blake,” he agreed, his scrutinizing gaze steady on her. “I admire your drive. I am proud to run an academy that accepts individuals from all walks of life— rich. Poor. Human.” He sipped his coffee. “And Faunus.”

She glared at him, and he heaved a sigh.

“Why do you wear that bow, Blake? Why hide who you are?” 

“You may be willing to accept the Faunus, Professor Ozpin,” she growled, “but your species is not. Even the best of them think of us as inferior—“ 

**“** True,” he agreed, “but we are continuing to take strides to lessen the divide.”

**“** With all due respect, sir,” she snarled, her tone conveying anything but the sort, “you need to start taking some larger strides. Until then, I'd rather avoid any unnecessary attention. I want people to see me for who I am, not what I am.”

**“** And what _are_ you?” He leaned forward, fingers pressing together in a clasping gesture. 

She swallowed under the pressure of his clear gaze. “I— I don’t understand what you’re asking.” 

“How did you know the White Fang would be at the shipyard tonight?”

She shook her head vehemently, a sheen of perspiration on her brow. _How much can he possibly know?_ “I didn’t. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”

**“** You wouldn't have been the first,” he assured her, a faint note of comfort softening his tone, before it hardened again, rising in the still room. “But what happened tonight was not an isolated incident. I may be your headmaster, but I am also a Huntsman, and it is my sworn duty to protect this world from the forces that conspire against it.” 

“Not the…first incident, sir?” 

“Do you know how your leader came to gain entry to this school at such a young age?” Ozpin inquired. Blake shook her head mutely. “I see you don’t. She was apprehended by Roman Torchwick, and was aided by Glynda in driving him away from the city.” He stared unseeingly out the window, his eyes flickering with shadows. “ _‘Something wicked this way comes.’_ I despair that the temporarily-bought tranquility in Remnant is not something that will last forever.” 

“Do you mean— war?”

“There are forces that even we do not know of at work; agendas and plots set in motion.” His eyes were sad, but it was not a human sadness: it was a grief of centuries, of a whole world. “I do not say this lightly. Secrets are powerful. Sometimes they may even hold the power to destroy us. But take heed of this, too; truth is a deadly weapon, and we must be careful how we use it.”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

His eyes returned to the window, reflecting the moonlight like tears. “Miss Belladonna, you would do well to _speak._ Sometimes, we don’t say the things we need to say to those we hold close… and often, we never get to. Fate has a way of tearing people apart. There’s some things that no weapon in this world can fight. No amount of trickery or deceit will change what honesty can. Blake, are you sure there is nothing else you wish to tell me?”

Her hands twisted together. _To speak. Honesty._ “I’m sure.”

“Very well. Thank you for your time, Miss Belladonna.” He rose and headed to the door, pausing and turning back to her, his face grave and sad like he had already seen his own fate, and knew it was a matter of time before he met an opponent he couldn’t overcome. “If you ever need to talk to me, please, don't hesitate to ask.”

The shutting of the door sounded like a gunshot, and Blake felt like she was choking, suddenly, snakes coiling over her tongue. She went to the window, flung it open, and gasped in the cool night air. 

_I can’t outrun my past— I can’t, I—_ She wasn’t able to form a coherent thought. All the stars above, and she would never touch them. So it went in all the tragedies, of life snuffed out, sundered by Fate. Her eyes landed on the Candle, a shining belt of dim stars to the north of the moon. A single star burned brightly at the tip of the constellation, a steady beacon of light.

Her heart rate returned to normal as she controlled her breathing. _I’m okay,_ she told herself, knuckles white on the sill. _It’s okay. Everything’s fine…_

Ozpin had been telling her something, of that she was sure, something important. “ _You would do well to speak…”_ And it wasn’t about the White Fang. 

No. It had been about some _one._

_What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet._

He’d been talking about Blake’s partner; she was certain. The _names._ They didn’t matter— all that truly counted was the soul, just the heart of who a person was. And so was Yang, wasn’t she? Even if she changed from time to time, she always was the steady point in Blake’s life, the shining star providing a beacon to guide through the long and cold nights.

Either way, musing over it until she lost her mind wouldn’t help her, and it wouldn’t change the plans unfolding around her— the White Fang, Roman. There was _something_ happening, a ball set in motion, plots being woven. A chess game of lies and secrets, and she was sure that her team was caught right in the crossfire, because of her connections to her past. Connections she could not sever.

And if she had to become the pariah to solve this, then so be it. She couldn’t stand by, allow the rise of something she’d spent so long fearing.

Shouldering her way out of the doors and into the growing shadows of the night, she headed back home.

 

* * *

 

**_Yang_ **

“We should _never_ have let him play,” Yang growled, nettled at her defeat. “I swear he cheated.”

“You’re just mad because a guy with blue hair beat ya,” Ruby said, and Yang rolled her eyes, before she looked around and saw Blake, rising from her bed. She hurried to the door before Yang could see her face, but before Yang could talk — to call her back, stop her, anything — Weiss’s voice rang out in demand.

“Blake, stop.”

She drew to a halt as if caught in an act of wrongdoing, her hand hovering inches from the doorknob. She didn’t say anything, but her shoulders slumped, and Yang remembered the sorrow in her eyes. What was _wrong_ with her? What had Ozpin said to make her this way so swiftly? 

Weiss frowned at her. “Lately you've been quiet, antisocial and moody — “ 

“Have you met Blake?” Yang joked, trying to lighten the mood, but her partner turned around. There was such anguish in her eyes, raw and defeated, that Yang’s jaw immediately snapped shut. _Oh. Oh no._

Weiss made a ‘shushing’ gesture at Yang before continuing, but Yang still gaped, Blake staring at the floor and refusing to meet her eyes. “Which I _get_ is kind of your thing, but you've been doing it more than usual! Which quite frankly, is unacceptable! You made a promise to _me_ , to _all of us_ , that you would let us know if something was wrong!” She spun her arm before she stabbed a finger in Blake’s direction, blue eyes blazing. “ _So_ , Blake Belladonna, what is _wrong_?” 

“I just—“ Her voice broke. “I don't understand how everyone can be so calm in the midst of this.” 

Ruby’s eyes saddened. “You're still thinking about Torchwick?

“Torchwick, the White Fang, _all of it!_ There’s more to this than just petty theft, I know it! Something _big_ is happening and no one is doing anything about it!” 

“Ozpin told us not to worry,” Yang mused, “but he’s secretive, and I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw a medium-sized elephant, which is not far. But… between the police and the Huntsmen, I'm sure they can handle it.”

“I’m _not!”_ Blake shouted back at her, eyes flaring like coals. “They don't know the White Fang like I do! There’s a reason I left, and it’s not because they’re just inexperienced children playing at a rebellion!” 

Weiss rolled her eyes at the two of them, glaring at each other, amber meeting lilac. “And do you suppose that, just because we’ve had a tendency to blow up nightclubs, stop thieves, and fight for freedom — all altruistically, I assure you — that you're _all_ ready to go out and apprehend these ne'er-do-wells?” 

“Uh, who?”

Blake was silent, her sorrow giving way to anger as she turned her stare on Weiss. 

“That’s what I thought. Again, let me be the voice of reason.” Her face softened as she dipped her head in Blake’s direction. “Blake, I understand how you’re feeling. I know it, too. The adults are hiding something momentous, but why would they tell _us?_ We're students! We're not ready to handle this sort of situation!” 

Ruby frowned a little at that. “Well yeah, but…” 

Weiss’s eyes sparked. “We're _not_ ready!” 

Blake blew up at that, a frightening spectacle— Yang, who had never seen her lose her temper but once, flinched. “And we may never _be_ ready! Our enemies aren't just going to sit around and wait for graduation day.” She flung a finger towards the door, snarling. “They're out there, _somewhere_ , planning their next move, and none of us know what it is, but it's _coming!_ Whether we're ready or not! And that’s a fact that we need to face even if the authority _doesn’t!”_

Ruby raised her hands in surrender before forcing a smile on her face. “Ah. Okay. All in favor of becoming the youngest Huntresses to single-handedly take down a corrupt organization conspiring against the kingdom of Vale... say aye.” 

Yang gladly leapt on the opportunity to get the scowl of Blake’s face. “Yes!” She pointed to her partner. “I _love_ it when you're feisty!” To her relief, Blake’s scowl faded away, replaced by a small smile. 

“Well,” Weiss conceded, “I suppose it could be fun.” 

Ruby pouted. “None of you said _aye…”_

“Alright then,” Blake said, a sigh rustling from her lungs, “we're in this together.” 

“Let's hatch a plan!” 

“Yeah!

“That’s all well and good,” Blake said quietly, “but we can do it when I get back from the library.” She turned to the door; vanishing before they could say a word. 

“She’s hiding something still,” Weiss declared as soon as the door slammed shut. 

“No shit,” Yang said sarcastically, “really?” 

Weiss glared and Ruby clapped her hands over her ears. Yang waved them off before going to the door. “I’m her partner. I’ve got the best shot of prying the angst out of her, okay? Don’t wait up on us.” 

“Good luck,” Weiss said half-heartedly, before Yang swung open the door and dashed down the hall. 

 

* * *

 

The library was dim at this hour, moonlight filtering down in dusty silver puddles. Vacant, the giant bookshelves rising like monoliths, sentinels to an untouched knowledge, it gave an air of silence and sorrow. 

She found Blake by the sound of her breathing, broken and harsh. And so Yang wasn’t surprised to find Blake perched on a windowsill in the west wing of the library, half-hidden by trailing ivy creepers. Her partner wiped her nose before turning to face her, but her eyes glimmered too bright and the tracks of tears marked down her cheeks. She was entirely made of shadow and Yang’s heart broke for her. There was a sadness within Blake that no light could reach. 

That didn’t mean she would ever stop trying.

“Are you ever going to trust me with your secrets?” 

Blake wiped at her eyes and gave a watery smile. “You’ve seen more of me than most. Than anyone.” 

“I don’t know who you are sometimes, Blake. Like right now.”

Blake’s smile slowly faded, her eyes moving away. “I trust you. But… I’m — I’m not ready. Not now, not yet. There are secrets to be given away like something precious. I need time.”

“Time can run out,” Yang warned her. 

“I’m your partner.” Blake paused, hands lingering against window, almost unconsciously tracing a silver fissure on the paned glass. She smelled of frost and the wild places of the night. “It’s my job— my _honor—_ to walk beside you even to the depths of hell, and protect you wherever you may go. But I… I can’t protect you from myself.” 

“Of course.” Yang brushed Blake’s hair and the Faunus’s eyes shone, reflective, with more tears. There was something else there, some sorrow of some other emotion she couldn’t put a name to. 

“Please go,” Blake whispered. “I don’t want you to see me this way.”

Leaving Blake there, alone save for the moon and the stars, felt like leaving behind a part of her heart. When Yang returned to the dorm, Ruby and Weiss were both asleep, but such refuge was a long time coming to her. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, seeing only amber eyes, anguish, anger. 

When sleep finally did claim her, she ran gratefully into the darkness. 

_And darkness it is. Yang is standing on the edge of a precipice, staring down into a seething, inky darkness, a welling eternal night. There is a grayish medium before it turns into an impenetrable dark, like a shadow come to life._

_She feels a sinister_ thing _down there, a slumbering presence of malignancy._

_“Your fight is coming,” a rumbling voice snarls from the darkness, and Yang stumbles back. “A fight that you have known is coming, have you not?”_

_A strain of wind arises from the darkness and Yang’s voice is lost in it when she speaks. “Who are you?”_

_A beat. Then, “Eluding questions with more questions… all a symptom of your fire. But even the brightest of fires can be overcome by shadows. Brilliant lights cease to burn; souls become their reflections, darkness mirrors itself, sundered by a choice.”_

_“Choices are not so momentous. How do you know I’ll be overcome?”_

_A pause. Then the thing chuckles, a low rumble making the ground tremor. “Because you are a hero, Yang Xiao Long,” it whispers, the wind rising to a crescendo of discorded screeches of agony. “And there is always going to be an enemy that is faster, stronger, smarter.” It pauses for so long, Yang thinks she is alone, before it speaks again, softly and crooning, like it is standing behind her and hissing in her ear._

_“For every hero, there is a fight they cannot win.”_

_And then: light._

When Yang woke, she looked up at the ceiling and felt as if something new had come into the world, as if the earth were shifting on its axis and winter had finally given way to spring.


	14. Chapter XIII - Ante Bellum

**Yang**    
  
  
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

She shook Blake’s shoulder and was met with a grunt of protest before her partner rolled over, burying herself deeper in the sheets.

“I’m going to pull out an airhorn if you’re not up in the next ten seconds.” The words were light, but her heart still remembered the grim dream.“Come on, today’s the big crime-stopper-central day, remember? The one where we blatantly ignore the authority in our own heroic quest for goodness?”

Blake frowned as she disentangled herself from the sheets, eyes flickering open, darker than ever. “ _Ante bellum.”_

“What does that mean?”

Her partner sat up, eyelashes casting angular shadows over her cheekbones. “ _Ante bellum —_ it means _before war._ And I have a feeling that… well, this is no small incident. It’s all connected, Yang.” There was a breathless undercurrent to her voice, like she was racing towards something. “All connected and we’re just missing the dots.”

Yang swore, reality crashing down. A bow on the top of her head couldn’t shield Blake from the weight of the past; an act and a lie could not change the truth. “You’ll be alone. How will you—”

“There’s a Faunus lackey that acts as a doorman, Yang. Besides getting a gross leer, he won’t look at me twice.” She didn’t look convinced. “The leering, I can handle. I don’t know about Ayr—” She broke off, biting her lip. “Never mind.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this must be for you.” She sat next to Blake. “Going back—“

“I’m going back, yes, but I do have one thing to hold on to. An anchor.” Blake looked at her hands, scarred, with slender pianist’s fingers. “I’m returning to you and to my team. And that’s all the incentive I need.”

Yang blinked, oddly touched, raising her head. The sun was at its zenith from outside the ajar window, and light poured down from the impossibly blue sky, striping highlights across the paneled floor. The cutting wind that swirled into their dorm smelled of ice and mint, stirring her hair in the gusts and blowing across her face.

Yang looked over as Blake shook her lightly.

“Xiao Long, that’s the _third time_ I’ve said your name. I thought it was _me_ that was supposed to be brooding. Are you all right?”

Yang offered a small smile, acquiescing Blake’s frown without comment. “Just got lost in my thoughts, I guess. Sorry.”

Blake reached over, brushed a strand of hair that had fallen in her eyes. Somehow her touch made Yang unbearably sad. “You disappear so completely in your head sometimes,” she murmured, eyes searching Yang’s face. “I wish I could follow you.”

 _You do,_ Yang wanted to say. _You live in my thoughts all time._ Instead, she turned her head to look out at the fierce beacon of the sun, squinting against the white glare, and Blake’s hand dropped with a little thud of finality. “We’ll be going soon,” she murmured. “As soon as Weiss and Ruby get back from breakfast. You aren’t even _slightly_ worried?”

“Worrying won’t help,” Blake said. When Yang turned to give her a fierce look, she held up her hands in surrender and admitted, “Don’t give me that look. Okay— yes, I am. I’d be foolish not to be. Only an arrogant person wouldn’t be worried, and concern staves off recklessness and keeps you on your toes. Plus, I—“ Her eyes dropped to the side. “I’m not exactly eager to be going into the heart of the White Fang again. It’s been a long time.” She looked guarded once more, and Yang knew how hard it was for her to speak of them, that she was ashamed of her time with the White Fang, ashamed of her past.

_But I would never judge you for that._

Yang’s breath hissed out between her teeth and she rubbed her hands together, raw and chafed from the chilly bite of the wind. Blake moved as if to lean against her, but she shrank back at the last second, eyes dark, and Yang wondered at why she’d done it. “You’ll be okay, Blake. You’re careful. And you’re strong.” Yang closed her eyes, and a vision of a small woman, bird-frail with sparking grey eyes and a sheer white cloak that flapped in the wind, swam against her eyelids. _Summer Rose._ Summer had been her mom, if not by blood, then by love. “I didn’t tell Ruby that the ‘ _friend’_ I have over in the shadier area of Vale isn’t exactly a friend,” she confessed. “He’s— an accomplice. Named Junior. He knows a lot of stuff, and I think he’s a spy for Torchwick. But he’s obligated not to hurt me, in a way, because he’s scared. I’ve burned my way through his club singlehandedly, and I could do it again, and he knows it. But we’re far from friends.” _That’s putting it lightly,_ she added silently. _After I stormed in there and demanded answers about Raven before obliterating his club…_

And Blake gave her the look that made her feel like someone had taken an apple corer to her heart, a mixture of vulnerability and a ferocious devotion. “If he hurts you—“

“You’ll be there to lick his bones clean, I know, I know.” Despite everything, she gave a small smile. “Don’t give me the whole ‘ _I’ll follow you into hell’_ spiel again, Blake. It makes me feel like I’d really go there and you’d have to save my sorry ass.”

Blake’s smile was sharp and angular, barely flashing the edge of a glittering white incisor before it was gone. She laughed, quick and fleeting. “Don’t you know it.”

“Hey, you guys!”

Yang and Blake jumped apart as if a bolt of lightning had speared down between them, and Ruby trotted out from the wide double doors, Weiss following at a more leisurely pace behind her. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be.” Blake sounded bored and cool, the softness fled from her voice. “We may as well hurry along with it.” It made Yang wonder if she’d only ever show her vulnerability to her partner; made her wonder what had made Blake single her out as worthy of that sort of trust.

“Yeah!”

Yang’s head snapped around as a faint cheery voice echoed into the room. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Sun, grinning manically as he hung upside down outside the window, his arms dangling; he swayed like a pendulum in the wind. _A pendulum,_ she thought sourly, aware that she was being petty, _of arrogant boy. Get lost, Wukong._

He promptly swung himself into the room with a thud, and the rest of the team gaped at him as he brushed curling tufts of sun-bleached hair from his eyes and cocked his head with a languid smile. “Are you guys, like, _finally_ getting back at that asshat of a criminal? That Torchwick guy?”

“Asshat’s a _word?_ ” Yang said in confusion, simultaneously with Weiss’s angry, “No swearing in the dorm! We have _manners_ here!”

Blake finally found her voice, rising and raising an eyebrow at him. “Yes, we are.” She pursed her lips. “As a _team.”_

“Sorry, Sun,” Ruby said apologetically as Yang and Blake shared a glance of amusement. “We don’t want to get friends involved if we don’t have to.”

He waved a hand nonchalantly. “Psh, that’s dumb. You should always get friends involved! That’s why I brought Neptune!”

Collectively, they poked their heads out of the window. Neptune was hugging the wall for dear life, looking terrified at the spinning heights that plunged away below him. “Hey,” he said tremulously, wind gusting across the precarious ledge. “Um, it’s really good to see you guys and all, but please, can I come in? We’re _really_ high up right now.”

“Heh,” Yang said, reaching out and poking him. He yelped and wobbled, hands gouging against the wall. “Not cool as a cat anymore, are ya?”

“If that’s an insult, Yang,” Blake’s voice drifted out from behind her, “I don’t appreciate it.”

“ _Sorry_ , kitten.”

Ruby reached out and helped Neptune edge along into the room, where he promptly collapsed on the rug with a gusty sigh of relief before twisting and glaring at Sun. “ _Insane,_ man. You’re insane.”

Sun flicked his tail over Neptune’s nose, and he puffed out his chest. “I prefer astonishingly brave and stunningly handsome warrior, thank you.”

“You’re just a trash boy from Vacuo,” Neptune grumbled, but Ruby intervened before Sun could retaliate.

“Sun, you can go with Blake. Neptune, you can go with Yang ‘cause she doesn’t have a partner. Okay?”

Yang shot a disheartened look to Blake, who was frowning, her eyes clouded as if her thoughts were far away. She wished she could go with Blake— wished she could help her through this— but Sun had been with her before on a mission, and it was for the best. Squashing down her doubts and fears, Yang moved over to Blake, gave her a reluctant half grin, muffling a noise at the back of her throat. She gave Blake’s hand a light squeeze, tapping her once on the arm. “Be safe, okay? I don’t want to have to come scrape you off the ground.”

Blake raised her eyebrows at her open affection— she was always stiffer, more guarded when they were in the presence of others—  but accepted it without comment. “Of course,” she said, “that would be inconvenient to clean,” and then she was gone, whirling around and diving out the window after Sun. Yang tried to discreetly look to see where’d she gone, if she’d dropped all the way to the ground, but it was as if the air had swallowed her whole.

Weiss looked down her nose at Yang and sniffed. “You’re really _all_ too obvious, Yang,” she said, though not unkindly, eyes darting from her to the place where Blake had disappeared. Yang defiantly stuck her tongue out at her as she walked away and out the door with Ruby.

“So are you, heiress!” she shouted as Weiss and Ruby disappeared. _Asshole,_ she thought mutinously _. I need to give her the Talk about Ruby, and soon._

“So, I guess it’s you and me now,” Neptune said, giving her an uncertain smile. She could see he was unsure of how to approach her, but she didn’t fault him for it; they might well need humor tonight, for how dangerous it could get.

“I’m delighted. Just so long as you don’t try your dearest partner’s horrid flirting tactics, and aren’t seized by a crippling penchant to show off your abs to the world, we’ll be good,” she grumbled, and his grin broadened, relief flickering over his face. “Let’s go.”

* * *

  
The city came alive at night, lights glowing like swarms of fireflies, and Yang could catch snatches of laughter and music as doors slammed in the darkness. The motorcycle billowed smoke under her feet, rattling through her bones, and she grinned against the fierce wind at Neptune’s terrified yelp as she rounded a corner with a sparking, screeching squeal, roaring down the avenue.

A purring nightclub alive with whirring lights towered ahead of her, at the end of the street. In swooping letters, the club’s name was emblazoned across a dark beam parallel to the threshold. She flicked her eyes over the glowing words, familiar to her as the backs of her hands— _THE BLACK SOL—_ before revving the motorcycle into a decrepit parking lot, slowing to a stop and jerking the cycle into a stop.

“Come on, the rat’s in here,”  Yang said over her shoulder. Neptune was trembling, his knuckles white and stiff on the cracked leather of the seat. She twisted her helmet off and hooked it over the handlebar before turning and staring up at the club; tonight, the air was heavy with oncoming rain and the damp humidity of late fall. A large, dark bird soared overhead, roosting on the letter ‘B’ in _THE BLACK SOL,_ turning a beady eye that was smeared with light onto her.

It was a raven. Thinking of her dream, a shiver went through Yang; before she could throw a stone to scare it off, her Scroll buzzed. She flipped it open, brow furrowing, and saw a notification for a new message bouncing in her inbox.

 **_6:17 PM - Blake:_ ** _Have you gotten anything worthwhile from the rat?_

A reply couldn’t hurt. Fingers shaking, she shot a message back.

 **_6:17 PM - Yang:_ ** _No. Not yet. other than the fact that neptune screams like a little girl when on a motorcycle, nothing yet. i think he went out of frequency range tbh_

 **_6:17 PM - Yang:_ ** _on a more serious note… Junior ought to play nice. he doesn’t usually say anything important, ill be ok… things seem off, though… kinda weird tonight. i feel iffy_

 **_6:18 PM - Blake:_ ** _How so?_

 **_6:18 PM - Yang:_ ** _there’s tension in the air. it’s weird. can’t u feel it?_

 **_6:18 PM - Blake:_ ** _…Now that you mention it, I can._

 **_6:19 PM - Yang:_ ** _doesn’t matter tho. you’ve got the most dangerous task of all of us. have u reached the place yet?_

 **_6:19 PM - Blake:_ ** _Much as I would like for us to have not arrived, we have, yes. Sun seems disconcerted as well, but it’s hard not to with this chill in the air. I can see it in the distance. And there’s a lot of Faunus… more than I would expect. Misguided, but that sort of direction can be lethal._

 **_6:20 PM - Yang:_ ** _what abt you? are you ok?_

 **_6:20 PM - Blake:_ ** _I’ll be fine, but I must go. Good luck._

 **_6:20 PM - Yang:_ ** _be careful. i don’t want you getting hurt tonight_

 **_6:21 PM - Blake:_ ** _Ditto. Tonight won’t be a repeat of the shipyard. I promise. Yang, be safe._

“I get that texting must be very entrancing in the face of our imminent doom, Yang, but can it wait? It’s starting to drizzle.”

Yang gave Neptune a funny look as he stared in dread up at the sky. “Dude, you realize you’re named after the Latin god of the sea, right?”

Neptune flushed. “I — you —  shut up, let’s just go in.”

She snickered as they trotted along, mounting the stairs. She yanked open the heavy, brass-studded doors, preparing for the hurricane of energy that would seethe over her.

Within, it was a warm cocoon of music and senseless oblivion. A blast of music broke over her, strobe lights fanning out in the floor: bright gold, acid green, a vicious and bruised purple. She blinked, the world swimming dizzyingly as she tried to gather her senses. A deep bass note throbbed through the floor, thrumming through her bones and jarring her ears.

However, before she could open her mouth to speak, a hum of clicks went through the air, and she peeled open her eyes to stare into the dark mouths of twenty gun barrels.

The smile slid from her face like butter from a hot knife; replaced by a snarl. Neptune whispered something she didn’t catch, but it sounded like a whimper or a curse.

“Define friend for me,” he hissed in her ear, “because as much as you like an edgy life, this _really_ isn’t cutting it for me.”

“Stop!” A panicky voice cut through the hum of the guns and Yang’s lips thinned from anger to displeasure. “Stop, stop, you idiots, nobody shoot!”

Junior’s heavily scarred face appeared through the crowd, his beard scraggly and his narrow eyes cold as glaciers under the rapidly flashing lights. “Blondie,” he growled. “You’re here. _Again._ Why…?”

“You,” she said sweetly, voice concealing a threat, “still owe me a drink.”

* * *

  
“I _told_ you, I don’t know. I don’t keep a record of every mafia-looking ginger who swaggers in here like he owns the place, darling, or I’d run out of paper before the week was up.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” Yang snarled, hand curling in a fist as she locked gazes with Junior. He was the first to look away. “Let’s go over this again, _honey._ I came in and saw him take your men. Then, I blew my way through this pathetic hole of a club— don’t look like that, it’s true, we all know it— and he left. Has he come back? Did he drink anything, and let information slip? Did he tell you where he was going or what he was doing with your men?”

“I didn’t ask,” Junior spat, the scars on his face rippling unpleasantly, like snakes. “Lots of people come to hire my boys; s’what keeps me in business — none of them ever come back, but spots fill up like lightning. Not my duty to know what they’re doing with the pathetic brats, you know? If I pried into every client’s motives they hired from me, I’d be shot before the sun went down.”

Yang narrowed her eyes. “And that’s all you can tell me?”

“That,” he said, knocking back a glittering, wine-gold shot with a neat flip of his wrist before looking at her with a dark amusement, “and perhaps a bit of advice, girl.”

Yang’s jaw set and Neptune’s eyes flickered between them like he was watching an intense game of tennis. Yang turned to Neptune and made a decision. “Neptune, why don’t you go wait by the motorcycle.”

“But you, I—“

“Go,” she snapped as he frowned. “You’re not helpless. I’ll come if anything funny happens.”

Looking hurt, he turned and vanished into the crowd, and Yang whirled back to Junior. “Talk, old man. I’m not in the mood for games.”

“You came here months and months ago, looking for Raven,” Junior said, a smile flickering over his lips; it was devoid of benevolence. “Despite what I said, your mother _did_ come here once. Her, and her whole team: a frail girl in white; a tall boy who must’ve been her brother, they looked so damn alike; a boy in all white and gold. But she alone approached me. And this, I can see, is the same with you: she had a destructive power that lay within her. Perhaps it was latent, perhaps not, but something ruled that girl. Some people are ticking time bombs: all you have is your fire, girl, but I can see you are her daughter. In the way you walk, maybe. Like nothing can touch you. But we all have some inner demon. Nobody comes to this place without a secret they’re trying to forget.”

“That’s your advice?” Cold rage took hold of Yang. “You _lied_ to me about my mother, you—“ She struggled, but no insult seemed adequate enough. “I beat your ass once, _Junior._ Maybe I should—“

“Hold your horses, sweetheart. My advice is this.” He leaned forward on his elbows, his wine-dark eyes resting on her. “There’s a power with truth. But there is also a power in lies. It’s the one that you choose that defines you. I hear things in the air, running this place. People say thing in drunken stupors. But this I’ve gathered; the peace in Remnant has always been an hourglass, and we’re nearing the time when the sands run out and war will break out again. The choice you need to be sure of is who’s side you’ll fight for when that time comes.” He sat back up, looking tired once more. “Now go on. Get out of here.”

“What do you mean, _who will I fight for?_ Isn’t that obvious? Do I look like I’d be a herald of evil to you?”

“If someone close to you was on the wrong side, would you have the courage to bear arms against them?” His eyes narrowed, looking like the grooved edges of glinting coins, and with a jolt, Yang realized she didn’t know if he was speaking of Raven — or of Blake.

By the time she’d come back to herself, he had gone to the other end of the bar and begun polishing glasses, clearly signaling the conversation was over. Yang growled, but menace would not come under her own pressing sense of dread, and she turned and shoved back through the pulsing crowd, a chill in her heart.

 

* * *

 

**_Blake_ **

“I don’t like it here,” Sun whispered as Blake pocketed her Scroll. He was rubbing his arms, looking fearfully at the warehouse; the only amusing thing about his alarm was that it had unnerved him so much he’d finally buttoned his shirt. “It’s so… this isn’t what the Faunus should _be_ like. It’s unnatural. How—"

“Did I stay here for so long?” Blake’s look was one of hatred as she stared at the familiar walls. “I’ve been asking myself the same question for years.”

Sun narrowed his eyes at the stream of wide-eyed, determined Faunus streaming in, with no idea what hell they were voluntarily walking into. “We’d better get it over with.”

“Much as I don’t want to.” She followed him down the cliff, like a shadow come to life, and they seamlessly merged with the crowd, keeping their eyes blank and inconspicuous. A feeling like ice crawled over her skin as the doorman’s gaze cut through her like a knife, glancing over her ears and Sun’s tail, before he shoved two masks at them and waved them through.

When she put them on, she was winded by the heavy weight of memory—

_looking through twin slits as she murdered, lied, stole, as Adam assured her it all was all right, it was good, they were justice-fighters—_

“This is so _uncomfortable,_ ” Sun said, looking as out of place as a poodle shoved into a ring of Dobermans as they slunk down the hall. “Why do they wear these things?”

“The masks are a symbol,” Blake said, longing to tear hers off, knowing that if she did, she’d be inviting an attack. “Humanity wanted— wants— to make monsters out of us. So the White Fang chose to don the faces of monsters. I—“

“Grimm masks,” he said, touching his with a newly woken shock in his eyes, all amusement fled. “That’s dark.”

“So was the leader who started it,” she said shortly, almost feeling the glare of jade-colored eyes knifing into her skull.

He grumbled something as they filtered into the room, but she didn’t hear it: her heart thumped loud in her ears, blood rushing to her head. She felt too hot all over, like a thin veil of fire seethed over her skin, but her hands shook and her heart was cold. Perhaps only a week ago, she could not have walked in here without hyperventilating; now, she was gripped with a cold, purposeful sense of vengeance and hatred.

As they were pressed in the center of a crowd— all of them misguided, that was all she saw, for these people were not killers, merely cheated out of a better life— Blake’s hand lay on her weapon.

Her hand clenched as the curtain shivered and a dark, hulking form padded out.

She had expected to see him, of course, when he walked out in that confident pace, like a panther on the lookout for prey. The months, years, had not changed Ayran. His corded, scarred arms were still laced with tattoos of curling writing in old languages. His coppery-dark hair still curled close to his neck, ribboned with lighter strands, and his mask still bore a feral brutality, his eyes glowing like coals through the slats. They moved over the crowd with a hunger and amusement all at once, and she froze, head bowed.

“Thank you all for coming.” His voice rang out, rumbling like a storm, laced with a darkness she had never, never been able to escape. “I assure you that your… decisions… in joining our cause— a force of revolution— will be beneficial, to both you, and to us.”

A low cheer went up from the members; with a sickening realization, she realized they were chanting a single phrase.

_Eliminate the humans. Eliminate the humans._

Ayran grinned; it was more the grin of a wolf before it leaped forward and tore out your throat, than anything. “For those of you who are joining us for the first time tonight, allow me to introduce a long-trusted comrade of mine. Of _ours._ He is the a piece in the puzzle we need to obtain what we have fought for all our lives.”

Blake’s breath caught in her throat, but it was not with surprise, because Ayran had long ceased to surprise her with the lengths he would go to to attain what he wanted. He would see the world go up in flames, as long as he could reap a reward from it.

As Roman Torchwick strode out onto the stage, met with yowls of anger and mingled growling, he waved mockingly. But Blake’s eyes drifted past him: behind Torchwick was a young girl, her plaited hair the color of earth and pink roses, her eyes as cold as flint. The sight of her sent a chill up Blake’s spine, though she couldn’t have explained why; perhaps it was the stone-look of her face, a ruthless cunning that she had long since learned to fear.

A howl of anger wailed up behind Blake. “What’s a human doing here?”

Roman’s eyes flared with anger, but his cool, catlike grin remained fixed. “Glad you asked, dearest.” He turned and addressed the crowd, Ayran watching him with a look of contained hatred, and Blake realized his praising words had been all false, all unbelieved by him. But the White Fang’s leader and his silver speeches were his one trait: _He and Torchwick are allies who would stab each other through the heart if they didn’t require the other’s advantages,_ Blake thought. _That doesn’t surprise me one bit. Just as I thought, Ayran would never work with a human… unless he was being forced._

“Now,” Torchwick said, “I’ll be the first to admit… humans are the worse.” He saluted to himself, still smiling. “Case in point. So, I can understand why you would love to see us all locked away, or better yet, killed!”

Sun leaned over and hissed in her ear, though he sounded worried. “Is he going somewhere with the self-depreciation?”

“Before the claws come out, however, there is a simple fact that you and I share in common. We all have the same enemy — the corrupted humans in charge, the humans who run our kingdoms with iron fists.” He smirked as the crowd started chanting in agreement. “Government. Military. Leaders. Even the schools. They’re all to blame for _your_ lot in life!”

 _That’s not so. The corruption lies within us all, and so does the fight… but it’s your choice to fight for good or evil, can’t they see that?_ Blake’s hands curled into fists. _No. Why should they? Because I was fooled by these empty promises once, too._

Torchwick’s voice rose to a crescendo, gleeful, full of mirth. “And they're all _pests_ that need to be dealt with! Fortunately, I'm the best exterminator around.” He snapped his fingers, and with barely a whispering ruffle, the curtain, a splash of gray against darkness, swept to the ground. The sounds of the room faded away to Blake, as if a screen of water had descended between her and the rest of the room, as she saw the hulking mass of the Atlesian Paladin, the crimson emblem of the White Fang blazed on one arm.

And all she could think was: _this is Adam’s doing._

“That’s a damn big robot,” Sun breathed, and Blake met his gaze in disbelief, her words just as incredulous. “How did he get that?”

 _“_ As some of you might have heard, this right here,” Roman grinned, leaning against the glimmering metal, “is Atlas’s newest defense against all the scary things in the world. And thanks to my… ah… _employer,_ we've managed to snag a few before they hit the shelves, so to speak.” Blake jotted down the thought that there must be a turncoat within the higher rankings of Atlas’s government before she returned her attention to Roman’s spiel. “Now, many of your brothers have already moved down to our new operation in the southeast.” Sun stiffened, and Blake knew he was memorizing it as well. “If you'd rather stay within the city, that's fine... but if you're truly ready to fight for what you believe in, this is the arsenal I can provide you. Any questions?”

 **“** We need to get out of here,” Blake hissed as she saw Ayran’s gaze sweep more carefully over the crowd, cold and calculating, before he stepped forward, shouldering Roman out of the way with a dark glare.

“All new recruits,” he yowled, muscles rippling under dark lines and scars, “please come forward!”

“What are we going to do?” Sun swore under his breath as the line surged forward eagerly, carrying them with it. “ _Blake_ —”

“I’m thinking!” Her eyes darted around the room; somehow, this warehouse had never looked so small and imposing. Once it had been a prison she’d chosen to escape, and now, it was ensnaring them again: her heart crawled to her throat. Perhaps she’d never escaped. Perhaps—

“He sees us,” snarled Sun in furious desperation, eyes glittering wide and white in the dark.

And then she realized it, as suddenly as she had realized one night that she had to leave Adam, leave life itself. “ _The junction box._ He can’t see in the dark.”

Whatever Sun said in response, Blake didn't hear it. She was doing a slow pivot in place, her eyes focused on the warehouse’s walls. Her Faunus abilities that gave her excellent sight kicked in, the grooved walls coming into better focus: She could see their glinting edges, their whorls and knots, the black squares of windows. But they were breakable. They'd endured battering storms and rebellions and sanctioned fights; after so many beatings, they couldn’t hold the strength of her wrath, of two Faunus smashing into it at once. She flexed her fingers, taking deep, slow, controlled breaths, just as Adam had once taught her. In her mind's eye she saw herself leaping, soaring, catching hold of the wall with ease and swinging herself through the window with a swift kick. She was light, she told herself, light as an arrow, winging its way easily through the air, swift and unstoppable. It would be easy, she told herself. _Easy._

"I am free from this,” Blake whispered. "Whether they know it or not."

And she shot the gun.

Darkness enveloped her instantly with a _bang_ as she seized Sun’s arm and jerked him; he coughed out something out like _go, I’ll be there,_ before she thrust off with her feet, punched someone in the face, felt blood and a breaking nose and she caught the wall. She heard Torchwick shriek in fury — heard Ayran roar out her name with a horrible glee — heard the crowd surge towards her as she beat against the window. Sun propelled himself out from the screeching fray and together they kicked the window open before soaring out and breaking into flight.

The moon floated above in a sea of stars and wind screamed in her ears as she mechanically ran, feeling the thrill of the chase sing in her blood; she was _free._ Shingles broke out under her feet as she flung herself from one turret to the next, eyes burning as if from sand or salt spray — it had been hell to be in that place, constantly thinking she saw Adam in every low voice, every narrowed glance, every flash of eyes…

 _“_ Blake!” Sun yelled, feet cracking against the rooftops as they ran into the night. She heard the loud metal of the Atlesian Paladin behind them. _Dammit! We’re being pursued._ “So you wouldn’t happen to have — I don’t know — some form of _backup,_ for the love of God?”

She slowed, but still wind tore at her face as she clawed her Scroll from her pocket and pressed the emergency dial that went straight out to her team. Seeing the glow of their faces filled her with determination. _I will_ not _let him do this._

“Everyone!” she cried as they both soared down to the street and began running faster, breath hot in her lungs, as the Atlesian swerved around a corner and tore after them, “if you can hear me, we need backup!”

Sun swore loudly as the Atlesian picked up pace and she winced, hoping that the Scroll hadn’t picked up on it. “They have a robot and it’s big, really big — and he’s like— he’s in it, but not like, it didn’t eat him— he’s freaking _controlling_ it or something—“

Yang’s voice came through, clear and sharp and commanding and Blake’s heart gave a painful thump against her chest. “Where are you guys?”

Sun shrieked as the Atlesian sprinted harder and they dashed past a dark alley. “Don’t know! Kinda busy! Running for our lives!”

Blake heard the roar of a motorcycle— could it be?— over the crash of metal, and then Ruby and Weiss replied back with urgent confirmations that they were coming as fast as they could. Blake stuffed the Scroll away as the end of the street loomed ahead of them, giving way to a busy highway, the roaring and lights flashing below.

“ _DAMMIT!”_ Sun shouted hoarsely as the red light of the robot flared brightly over them. “Blake, what are we gonna—”

But then she saw the cliff, the undulating sea of darkness expanding away from it. Lights shot through the dimness below, and the clatter of metal was ever-increasing. Jumping from such a height— it was a gamble. A crazy, insane, horrible risk.

But her life was a risk in the making. She met Sun’s eyes and they filled with dread, but perhaps a bit of thrill, too, as they both turned and dove for the ledge.

And then all was darkness, and she was weightless.

 

* * *

 

**_Yang_ **

They crashed onto the highway, burning rubber beneath, and Neptune shrieked as they went up on two wheels. Yang grinned against the wind before it abruptly dropped and she swore, loud enough to be heard against the noise.

The Atlesian was there, cars spinning away, a din of honking and screeches blazing up in its wake. She spun through the wreckage, barely sparing a glance, but her heart ached as she heard the screams of those in the cars. _So much death and pain._

“We need to slow it down!” she shouted at Neptune, voice slicing through the wind. Everything had a dark tint through her helmet, and she cursed again.

Neptune perched on the back, yelled an agreement, before the blue light from his trident flared over her: even in the midst of the chaos, she rolled her eyes. _If he’s Neptune and fits the theme, does that make Nora Jupiter, or Zeus?_

He leapt from the motorcycle with a defiant scream, flipping in the air and stabbing the Atlesian in the back. Crackling blue lights arced out, wrapping in a web of electric energy around the metal. Yang spurred the motorcycle forward, seeing Blake way up in the distance, atop of a car, her hair flying darkly around her. Her eyes were bright with hatred as she stared at the robot, and Yang’s eyes narrowed as Sun’s semblance made an appearance: he shouted at Neptune before two shimmering, iridescent copies of himself ran through the wreckage, flinging themselves against the robot and disappearing in sparks of sparking gold. Then he himself was up, soaring through the air like his namesake, landing on the back of the robot and battering it fiercely: it swung a punch before they both were flung off, disappearing from sight as they plummeted into the darkness. They hadn’t dealt much damage; the bulk of the destruction was up to them, now. Yang felt her Scroll shudder as Weiss’s voice rang through.

_‘Blake, I’m in position!’_

Yang abandoned her motorcycle, swerving it into a recess on the bridge where it sputtered to silence as Weiss appeared, a sheet of glimmering ice exploding out from her rapier as she plunged it earthward; she dropped into a compact bow as the Torchwick ran the Atlesian onto the vast expanse of white, and it spun out of control, smashing through an energy barrier and falling out of view. The barrier flickered and died, and the darkness loomed beckoningly.

Ruby appeared in a flurry of rose petals as Torchwick toppled out of sight, leaping without hesitation over the side. Blake followed after, with a controlled grace, Weiss going then, her hair flapping and snapping like a silvery flag, and then Yang, wind screeching in her ears.

She thumped to the ground, her team and family following suit: Weiss with snap of her rapier, her blue eyes blazing with contained fire, Ruby, anger on her face, Blake, jaw set in stone. Yang landed in a shallow crouch, eyes sweeping the area; storm clouds ribbed the sky like dark arms, the stars dead, cold wind blowing off the sea and breathing ice into the air. In that moment, she knew she would follow them wherever they went, because some bonds went deeper than blood. She couldn’t imagine losing any of them anymore than she could imagine losing a limb: perhaps they had all had qualms in the beginning, but now she knew any of them was willing to risk their life for the others.

An unspoken word ran through them as the Atlesian-Paladin stumbled to its feet, the bloody wolf shimmering the moonlight. _We attack together._

“Freezer burn!” Ruby called.

Yang shot out a round from her gauntlets with a snarling sort of grin, fire exploding out into the air as Weiss spun and plunged Myrtenaster into the ground, a shroud of mist instantly filling her vision, everything turning to white. _But, hopefully, Torchwick is blinded, too,_ she thought, backflipping off of the ice. _This has to be the craziest thing we’ve ever done…_

As she circled back around, adrenaline thrilling through her, a firing shot from the robot exploded behind her, and Ruby flew from the epicenter with a defiant yowl, hitting the Paladin with a clang.

The fight was vicious, through a cycle of team attacks and Roman dodging them with seconds to spare. Yang felt sweat stinging at her eyes as the team attacks went on; she dropped into a shallow crouch as Ruby and Blake fell upon the robot from the light of the moon, slicing the left arm off in a flurry of crashing metal. She capitalized on the moment, running forward and throwing herself upon the robot with a defiant cry. She pummeled the metal, feeling it bend and contort, before it arched violently underneath her— and it bucked her off savagely.

She flew back, air screeching in her ears, knowing things had gone wrong, that she had messed up. She saw the dark Paladin fist arcing towards her, almost in slow motion, aware of every second of silence between the beats of heart. _He’s going to kill me, my Aura conduit isn’t enough,_ she thought, distantly as a fading echo, before, for the second time in her life, a shadow passed between her and destruction.

It was Blake.

Time returned to normal. There wasn’t even time to cry out before the glinting fist smashed into Blake with the force of a monster truck, catching her straight in the chest. She flew through the air with an awful cry of pain before hitting a pillar with a loud _crack_ , sliding down to the plinth, where she crumpled, eerily still. Her limbs were flung to the side, and once she slumped to the street, she didn’t move again.

“Blake!” Yang screamed, but she was forced to move as the robotic arm swung at her once more with lethal intent, Torchwick’s menacing laugh spiraling up into the night. _He hurt Blake. He tried to kill her._ Rage as hot as live wires twisted through her veins. _I’ll kill him for that._ A low growl rumbling in her throat, bloody redness hazing her sight, she felt the familiar heat burst into flame within her veins, and a halo of fire rose up like an angel’s wings behind her.

Her semblance had arrived, and she was _pissed._  


* * *

 

Later, Ruby would tell her that her eyes had glowed with more rage then she had ever seen before, that the sight could strike fear into anyone. All that Yang could feel in the moment was an anger more bitter and deep than she had ever known.

She threw herself at the Paladin with a howl of anger and Ruby and Weiss followed behind her with similar battle-cries, shooting spikes of ice at the Atlesian as Yang raised her fist. Her fingers clenched as she poured all her emotion — all her bitterness and shock and fear of the night— of seeing Blake fall to the ground in a motionless heap — into the punch, skin connecting solidly with the metal with a grating yell.

Metal inverted on itself, a loud _crack_ ringing into the night. The robot shuddered once before it unraveled, bolts and rivets tearing free from their moorings and surging apart with crunching noises. It tumbled backward, screeching across the road as Roman threw himself free from the remains of the ruin, before it started smoking.

Yang’s teeth ground together, fury flaming through her veins. She belted out a bullet into the air, a spinning orb of flame whisking its way towards Torchwick— and then a flash of darkness intercepted it, and it billowed out in smoke and webbed gold.

Yang’s snarl drew back into a grimace of confusion as she saw a diminutive girl standing in front of the thief, a dancing, mocking grin on her face as she curtsied to Yang. She didn’t hear Roman’s taunting words over the roar in her ears; she was sprinting forward, hand drawing back, smashing against that delicate, fine-boned face—

and it shattered. Glass imploded around Yang, clinking against the concrete. Bewildered, she tossed her head back to see an aircraft rising in the night, Torchwick and his accomplice within the square of black.

Yang didn’t even remain to see the Bullhead glide away into the night, blotting out the stars; as soon as the illusion shattered, she turned and ran through the smoking rubble to where her partner lay, motionless. The moonlight lent an eerie silveriness to everything. Dimly, as if through a screen of water, she was aware of Weiss and Ruby following hurriedly after her, of Weiss dialing the Beacon infirmary on her Scroll, but she had tuned out.

She crouched beside Blake, a choking feeling threatening to swallow her whole.  As she saw the faint— but steady— pulse in Blake’s neck, a wave of relief swamped her. There was a gash disappearing into her clothes, but it wasn’t bleeding heavily, save for an angry line of red. She appeared to be unconscious. _Not dead, not dead, not dead,_ her heart pounded.

Ruby fell down next to her, eyes huge and shocked. “Is she—”

“Alive. She’s okay.” Yang swallowed back the lump in her throat, eyes stinging. _She was— is— so fragile,_ she thought, _so breakable. “_ She took that hit without the strength I had— God, she can’t wake up, but the pain— the pain must be incredible,” Yang whispered, gathering her up into her arms and rising, seeing Weiss come towards them with large blue eyes, filled with fear. “We have to get her help. Now. Right now.”

“An airship is on its way,” Weiss said quickly, blinking in horror at Blake’s prone form. “She’s—?”

“Her heart’s beating.” Yang shifted, cradling Blake closer. Already, bruises were forming, an angry purplish red wreath across her shoulders. “God, I should have known not telling her about my semblance would have rebounded.” A weak laugh bubbled up from her throat. “What a price to pay.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “And you were supposed to know that a mafia-boss ex-thief was gonna pull such a jerk move, like attacking Blake, _how…?”_

“Mafia-boss ex-thief. Well, now that’s another name to add to the ever-growing list of what we call him,” Yang muttered sourly. “Though I’ll stick with ‘ _ginger-haired asshole_ ’, myself.”

Weiss looked back over the debris, the rubble, and frowned. “Wait a moment, where did Neptune and Sun go?”

“I don’t have the energy to care right now,” Yang exhaled, and Ruby grinned up at her.

“Hey, at least tonight was a partial success. _Crime-stopping-central._ We got some information.”

“Honestly,” Yang said, grinning at her sister, “a near death and that’s all you can think about?”

Ruby touched Yang’s hand lightly; it came away dark with blood. “You’re hurt, too.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Yang shifted Blake’s weight and a grim determination flooded her. “It would have been worth more to keep her safe.”


	15. Chapter XIV - A Bond of Blood

**_Yang_ **

 

Yang walked into the infirmary hesitantly.

It was, thankfully, vacant; she was grateful that it was clearly not often used. There was a rococo pattern of vines and cherubs intricately painted high above, in the lofty rafters. Her partner was in a cot near the back of the room, dark hair fanned out around her. She was bruised from the blow, bandages circling her neck and disappearing into the folded collar of her clothes.

She was here because of Yang. Because she’d chosen to save her.

Exhaling a sigh of— what? What could she even feel right now, besides an overwhelming relief that her partner hadn’t been _killed?_ Yang pressed her forefinger to her neck — Blake’s heartbeat was steady and strong, thank God. The only time she had ever been as scared as she had been last night was when Summer Rose had been killed.

She’d seen Ruby break, burdening a weight that no child should have to bear. That was when Qrow had turned to liquor. When Taiyang had turned into someone she didn’t even _know._ Her childhood home in Patch was a mausoleum; a family had died there.

“Yang?”

Yang snapped back to the present, eyes widening as Blake stirred, struggling to sit up. “Whoa there, tiger,” she said, leaning gingerly over the cot. “You took quite the hit. Chill out; you’re safe now. I promise.”

Blake blinked, panic filling her eyes. “Where—?”

“We’re in the infirmary.” Yang laid her hand on Blake’s, softly; it felt like holding her fingertips over a low flame. “You’re okay. We’re all okay. We got out of there.”

Impossibly, Blake gave her a sidelong look, eyes smiling. “God, I feel like hell. I see my little stunt wasn’t in vain, seeing as you’re here, and not lying in a pulp on the highway—“

“That was a stupid thing to do, Blake. I would never forgive myself you had—“ _Died,_ Yang thought, swallowing, unable to finish the sentence. The thought of Blake dying felt like someone had driven a blade into her chest.

Blake’s eyes brimmed with gold, reflective and sad. “It’s all right, Yang. I did it for you.”

"You _shouldn't_ have." Yang’s grip on Blake loosened suddenly; she stepped back, holding her a little distance away. "My God," she said, touching Blake’s face. "You idiot, what a thing to do.” Her voice was angry, but the gaze that swept Blake’s face, the fingers that gently brushed her hair back, were tender. "Why don't you ever _think_?" she whispered.

"I _was_ thinking," Blake said. "I was thinking about you."

Yang’s hand clenched over Blake’s. “I was so scared,” she whispered, before an impossible laugh welled up, born from the lightening of worry. “Blake Belladonna, don’t you know that I can’t be hurt by a few punches?”

“That would’ve been nice to know,” Blake exhaled, turning her face away, the bruises on her jaw looking like shadows. “But I suppose the sentiment of the action isn’t negated by that fact.”

“You would have _died_ for me,” Yang said, swallowing a lump in her throat. “I think… Blake, I think it’s time—”  

Blake struggled to sit up, propping herself on her elbows. There was an ugly looking gash peeking out from a wilting bandage on her shoulder, where the concrete had rained down around her. “I know what you’re going to say,”  was all she said, a note of uncharacteristic darkness in her tone. “You want to Bond, don’t you?”

Yang nodded wordlessly.

“You’re sure,” Blake said softly. “Bonding is intended for eternity, Yang. It’s a very serious act of trust. It’s… it’s forever.”

Yang took Blake’s hands in hers, looked her directly in the eyes. “Aren’t we forever?”

“After last night…” Blake shook her head with a weak laugh, shivering, though it wasn’t cold in the infirmary. “Sometimes your energy astounds me. Do you know the details of the Bond?”

Yang shrugged, chewing her lop. “I asked Dad once. He wouldn’t tell me about it, said I didn’t need to know, blah blah blah. I think it’s because his own Bond— it just _snapped_ when—” She broke off the sentence. _When Summer Rose was killed… God, it must have been painful._ Blake’s eyebrows rose at her abrupt silence, but she didn’t press; her narrowed eyes melted into sorrow, and the shadow of pain.

“When a Bond breaks,” Blake whispered, “it hurts as if every pain you and your partner has ever had— mental, physical — is rebounded on you with ten times the intensity. Every sorrow, every battle, every heartbreak… thrust upon you in one blow. One concentrated stab of agony. It’s… horrible. I almost think death would be better.”  

A memory flitted through Yang’s mind: she knew; she knew of the Bond’s darker mirror.

_Her father had been laughing at some antic Ruby had performed with Zwei. Ruby was about to make a joke, her gray eyes sparkling, before Taiyang had crumpled to the floor with an awful cry of pain, sounding no longer human, but very much like an animal being torn to pieces; like his very soul was being ripped out at the roots — a glow had sparked up, white and gray, before it had died in a great flare of darkness, around his chest. He had screamed and screamed like something was renting his bones apart before his eyes—_

_And then Qrow had burst into the room, his usual careless demeanor replaced by a newly-woken horror and shattered light in his eyes: that was the day everything had fallen apart, that was the day Yang would remember forever._

“I know what the Bond can do,” Yang said darkly. “Trust me, I _know_ what happens when it’s broken.”

Blake’s eyes shimmered — tears, Yang realized, though they didn’t fall, her face dark as the shadowed side of the moon. “Adam broke it off after the train went out of sight. And he and I were in so many battles together, plus all the anger and energy from the White Fang rallies— all that _pain_ —”

Yang gaped at her; she had forgotten, in her grief, that Blake was speaking from experience. _So much sorrow…_ “You _survived_ that?”

Blake’s jaw set, stony. “When you’re hellbent on anything, pain is inconsequential. I needed to get out alive. So I did. But…” She let a breath shudder from her lungs. “The Bond entails much. It allows you to conduit Aura between you and your partner, to share your strength and skill, allows you to sense where the other is at any time, and allows you to get — in a sense — the other’s emotions at any given moment. It binds the souls. It’s… it’s an act of utmost trust and balance and love.” Blake’s eyes were cast down. “And it can abused terribly in the wrong hands. But.” She looked up, eyebrows set in a determined line. “With all the talk of trust, I made a mistake once in trusting someone with a Bond. But I am confident that I will not do so again. Not with you.”

Yang grinned at her. “I love when you make little speeches. It throws your strong and silent act out the window.”

Blake’s frown mirrored the opposite of her expression, though her eyes danced. “Did you hear a word I said, Xiao Long?”

Yang grew somber again. “Yeah, of course. Blake— Adam hurt you. I can see that within you, every day. But that doesn’t define you. His screw-ups for not loving and cherishing you just as you were— those are _his own faults._ ” She pressed her fingers to Blake’s chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. “But it’s time you recognized I’m _not_ Adam, that trusting me doesn’t mean I’ll change like him. And you’re not the same as you were with him, either! Everyone changes, just as the sun rises and falls. And trust isn’t a one-way street. You can’t be relying on me only to be your pillar, and vice versa. We’re all a team, okay? RWBY — all of us. Not just you and me.”

Blake’s frown faded to a soft concern, her eyes flickering over Yang’s face. “I know it. But some fate brought us together in that forest months ago, Yang. I have to believe that.”

Yang let her hand fall back to her side. She had stopped believing in any kind of Fate a long time ago. “Perhaps so.” She forced on a grin. “Do you wanna hear a pun?”

“Why on earth,” Blake said, looking bewildered at her sudden shift from solemn to chipper, “would I—”

“Nah, you’re right. It wouldn’t be _Weiss_ to tell puns at a solemn time like this, would it? I can tell you don’t like my puns — are they too _schnee_ zy for you?”

“Is there a God? What did I do to deserve this?”

“Shh, my puns aren’t that _cat_ astrophic. I personally think our Bond is gonna be _purr_ fect.”

Blake’s head thumped into her hands. “I’m rethinking this, Yang. Thank God that Bonding doesn’t consist of telepathy or I’d—“

“See? There we go.” Yang grinned at Blake, whose eyes were sparkling, despite her somberness. “You’re smiling. Mission accomplished.”

Blake’s head fell back against the pillows, her eyes glittering up at Yang. “Amusing. I almost forgot to ask — what happened after I went out?”

Yang frowned. _Darkness. Coldness. Dread._ “I beat the living hell out of the robot—” Blake laughed, the sound rich enough to bottle, “and I swear to God, I’ve never seen Weiss and Ruby so _angry,_ or so coordinated as when it hit you. Suffice to say, Torchwick didn’t stand a chance. Not against three balls of rage.”

Blake’s eyes were far away. “By chance, was there anyone with him?”

Yang’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah— how’d you know that?”

Blake grinned, that dark, fierce grin Yang loved. “Sun and I saw things in the warehouse. And we need to have a team meeting — soon. We got good information. Let me guess: the girl was diminutive, pink and brown hair, heterochromia iridum?”

“Don’t know what the latter means, but yes, she did have the weird-ass hair and she was tiny as hell.”

“It means she had different colored eyes—”

Yang plowed on. “She held out her parasol and it deflected the fire and when I punched her, she shattered.”

“Pardon?” Blake’s eyebrows rose.

“Like, I punched the parasol and her and Roman broke into thousands of pieces. I guess that’s her semblance — illusionary.”

“Puzzling. And also… worrisome, that she can defend harm from our foes so easily…” A dark note weighed her voice. “But I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it at the present.” Blake propped herself up against the headboard, swinging her legs free from the sheets. There was a good foot of height between them; from this angle, in the halo of sunlight, as light as spun gold, Yang could see little details of Blake’s face she’d never noticed before: the scars that peppered her skin from a lifetime of battle, the faded band of freckles that spattered the bridge of her nose. All these things that made her partner, the person she had come to trust as much as her own family.

“Vale to Yang. You in there?”

Yang blinked out of her reverie. “Sorry.”

Blake looked down and away, the air quickly sobering. “I’ve only ever done this once. With Adam.” Her eyes darkened before she pulled herself up, her right hand laced with Yang’s left. “And now with you. But this I will do by myself, and willingly.” She glanced up from their hands, eyes locking on Yang’s. “I trust you. Now, please keep silent, and do not let go of me. The Bonding ritual itself… it’s strange, Yang. With this, it will entrust my memories into you. _Everything._ It’s a monumental example of the trust I place in you, Bonding. Now… there is something else curious about the ritual. When you look back upon memories, they are not sharp with clarity, right?”

Yang nodded, wondering where she was going with her spiel.

“Right, of course. Your memories are blurred— dampened, you could say— by the weight of your emotions. You’re remembering what you _felt,_ moreso than the details of the scene _—_ anger, fear, love, sadness. More emotional people, like you, tend to have blurrier memories. I— my memories are sharper than most. Impassivity isn’t really an emotion that blurs a lot. Whatever is blurred? It is what I felt the most for. Now, to Bond…”

“But you feel like anyone else,” Yang broke in, reeling.

Her eyes sharpened, furtive, desolate. “Of course. Now. Here we go.” Her eyes shut, face smoothing out to a careful neutral. “With this,” Blake murmured, “I give all of my light up to another. I place my trust in my other half; I do this willingly, so that there may always be someone to aid in my darkest hours. I release my strength to show a way through the darkness for my other half; through this, we may become one. I share my soul, and bare my heart to my partner. To the promises that are unbreakable, the Bond that is tempered by fire, I give all of myself to another. For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death.” Blake’s hand touched the side of her neck lightly, and a jolt of lightning lanced through Yang’s veins— not from Blake’s touch, but from the Bond beginning its work. “I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee.”

A queer feeling, corporeal and ethereal flooded her with light, and then a shock went through her—

Yang felt a darkness fall over her, a great crashing wave of despair and soaring hope and light and pain and misery and _love—_ a shining weave of emotions too great to contain, filling her to the brim until she was sure that if she moved, it would spill over like rainwater from a hollow. Gasping, teeming with all the emotions that made Blake who she was, Yang gulped in breaths, still trembling.

And then a heat blazed out, tendrils like fire shooting down their arms to converge where their hands were clenched together. It condensed itself into a ball of white-hot fire. Then a sheer, undulating darkness had crumbled at the edge of her visions and she was falling, falling into—

_light._

_Light was all she saw: it was in the bright glare of the sun, the emerald seas of grass that rolled away all around her. She was on a high plateau, and the wind swept over her in pulsing, warm breezes, the sweet touch of nectar and flowers thick in the air._

_Yang’s eyes widened as she heard a voice over the wind, a melodic, youthful voice that was tinkling like bells, but some part of its happy cadences seemed forced, almost; an imperceptible strain trembled in the words. “See, Brian. I told you she would be here when we returned.”_

_A rumbling voice replied, low and indistinct. “Of course, Maria. Ayran wouldn’t hurt Blake, not yet, now now. But I fear…” His voice trailed away, worried._

_Two figures came into Yang’s view: a tall and a short figure. One figure was a pale woman that held much of Blake in her appearance, with a slim physique and willowy stature; her eyes were a bright amber, and her hair was pale coppery-russet. She was a Faunus, clearly, with a mischievous smile and two ginger, notched ears that rose from her hair. The other was a tall, scary looking man— his Grimm mask adorned his frightening looks— with pitch black hair and scars criss-crossing all over his body. A sooty-colored tail curled out behind him, but there was a softness to his face: Yang could tell at once that he was not a cruel man, Blake’s father. Both of them were misted, dampened by the emotions that clung to them. Blake’s feelings— love, resentment, the ache of loss. They accentuated the brightness in Blake’s mother’s eyes, the softness of her father’s smile._

_Blake’s parents, Yang guessed, whom she’d never given word of before. Yang knew the enormous trust her partner was entrusting to her, to show her the parts she’d never revealed to anyone else._

_The memory fell away, shattering into colorful shards, giving way to another scene. It showed Blake, watching a lanky young boy who donned a tiny shortsword, ragged at the edges, like it was eaten away by acid. Here, the smudging of emotion was obvious; it made him seem handsomer, fierce and twisted all at once. Hate, sadness, and love; a puzzling combination, but it was there all the same—_

_“My name’s Adam, and I lost my parents in the battle, too,” the red-haired boy announced, and Yang felt realization crash over her. “I’ll protect you.”_

_“Really?” Blake was little in this memory, and Yang felt her heart contract at the wretched pain on her face. “You’d do that?”_

_“Partners,” Adam said gently. “Okay? I’ll teach you to fight, Blake. To protect yourself. The humans can’t hurt us ever again, not while we have each other.”_

_Blake smiled— it was a wary, beaten thing, too sad for such youth— and took his hand. “Okay. Promise?”_

_Adam grinned, and poked her before he stuck out his tongue. One of Blake’s pointed ears twitched in amusement. “I promise.”_

_Then the picture fell to black, like a curtain sweeping into darkness, before dawning on a corrugated room in a what Yang assumed was a warehouse: she could see two amber eyes in the dark—_ Blake’s _eyes— wide and scared, before they calmed. Low, heaving breaths tore through the silence._

_A low, rumbling voice rasped from the dark, familiar, and older. “Go back to sleep.”_

_Blake glanced behind herself, pupils slitting, before she sat back. A figure was pressed closely against her, in the dark, his dark eyes aglow as he breathed against her. He was only slightly blurred here, dampened by few emotions: fondness, love. “Bad dream?”_

_“As always,” Blake murmured._

_“We’ll fix that,” he told her._

_Blake’s eyes flickered with sadness before she leaned heavily against him. “I love you,” she said softly, and Adam glanced at her; in the memory, even Yang could feel her heart skip a beat before plummeting._

_“I know.”_

_It rippled at the edges before falling into itself, like a portrait sagging inward and shattering to nothingness; this time, Yang could feel the dark weight of Blake’s emotions swirling around her, stealing her breath away— shame, sorrow, hurt, a crackling resentment._

_Yang’s eyes widened as she saw a corpse— glazed eyes, his throat slit wide open. The emblem of the Schnee Dust Company was bold on his chest, and a bloody Adam was standing over the dead man with triumph in his eyes, a knife in hand; blood coated his arm up to the wrist. Blake was behind him, a mix of horror and fury on her face. A Faunus man— arrogant, imperious, and threatening, his form blurred with a strong pulse of hatred— was purring sinuously, “Good job, Taurus. I knew you could do it.”_

_“Thank you, Ayran,” Adam said, flicking blood from his hands with contempt. They flew away in jeweled red droplets, spattering on the dead man’s face with a myriad of scarlet— and Yang remembered, briefly, Weiss recounting the disappearance of her family members— and the Faunus kicked the corpse in derisive disdain._

_“Another Schnee bastard down,” he spat, sharp, acerbic loathing in his voice. “Wonderful. Belladonna, you’re next.”_

_“Of course, Ayran,” Blake said, her voice carefully neutral and monotonous, though her eyes burned with fear. “I look forward to it.”_

_And then—_

_Blake was standing alone in a room. A dais, a lectern on it, loomed in front of her; Yang gagged as she saw a throne made of fused bones erected on the dais. Everything about the room was indistinct, smudged with the strong taint of hatred and resentment. As Yang watched, the huge Faunus man with the fangs and scarred vulpine ears strode out. There was a look in his eyes as they landed upon the defiant Blake that made Yang’s heart flare with a sudden, violent heat._

_“Blake Belladonna, my Blake. You finally grace me with your presence. Mm… it_ has _been awhile. Busy fighting out to avoid what you’ve become, are you?”_

_Blake’s voice was stiff, her lips hardly moving. “I’m not ‘your Blake’. And I haven’t become anything. Lord Ayran, sir,” she added as almost an afterthought, her voice icy and rigid with disdain._

_“Ah, so we’re going for a definite lack of deference. I see. This_ should _be interesting.”_

_Blake watched him stonily, silent._

_“I have called you in the utmost interest of your loyalties. You see, Blake, they are in question. I grow very curious to know where your heart lies— with your family, the White Fang, or with some farfetched fantasies.”_

_“Who’s been feeding you rumors and lies?” Blake scoffed, but her eyes shadowed with panic._

_“No one.” Ayran grinned widely, manically. “I am no fool, poppet. I know very well when a Faunus shows signs of straying. It’s how I ascended to the throne. You would do well to remember that I am not idiotic.”_

_“But you’re a megalomaniac,” Blake whispered, but evidently, Ayran didn’t hear her, as he prattled on._

_“But that— while a happy endeavor I would venture in, to see where your loyalties lie— I will give you a second chance. You are a stupendous fighter, and clever enough to rule when I am gone. So I have called you here to offer you precisely that.”_

_“Offer me what?” Blake seemed baffled._

_“Power,” Ayran murmured, caressing the word with his whisper as if it was cherished. “Power, dearest. That is what I can give you— that you will lead, by proxy, through Adam Taurus. If only you’ll renounce those foolish fantasies I see in your eyes when we trifle with the humans.”_

_“Sir, I— why?“_

_“Because you will_ never _be a Huntress,” he spat, and Blake recoiled, looking like she’d been slapped in the face. “You will never be a human, never part of their ranks. They hate us and they hate you, for you are part of the White Fang, and that is something you shall carry with you to your grave, however soon it may be. If they make us monsters, than indeed we will fit their images.”_

_“I—“ she began to protest, but Ayran cut her off with an impatient flick of his ear._

_“You’re destined for this,” he breathed, eyes alight with a fevered glow. Somehow he was even more terrifying without his insane mask. “It’s fate that you tread in the footsteps of your predecessors, Belladonna. The stars have read it—“_

_She looked at him with loathing, all her submission gone. “I knew you were crazy,” she growled, the words spat out. “But I didn’t realize you were absolutely, spectacularly out of your goddamned mind.”_

_Ayran seemed unfazed, his eyes losing their over-brightness, a lecherous leer curving his lips in the mock of a smile. He sounded amused. “Hardly, my dear Belladonna. Now, let us drop the colloquialisms. Julian is dead, and good riddance; he was a softhearted, human-loving half-breed. Your fool of a father got himself killed in war, and your mother got slaughtered in an ambush.” His eyes glittered, and Yang could only think,_ he’s lying. Can’t she see he’s lying?

_Blake froze as he grinned, sharp teeth glittering in the dimness. “You owe undivided loyalty to me now, and whomever I deem an ally, and you are predisposed to supplant Adam, and myself, one day. Diligence won’t save you if you decide to be insubordinate. I grow weary of the ways you fluctuate between who you were raised to be, and the dream-chaser. Absolution isn’t for the Faunus, understand? The humans are going to be slaughtered for dismissing us so flippantly. You can find that ghastly— I can see in your eyes, pet, your revulsion—  Humans are our enemies. Now and forever. They have not raised a finger to defray the hardships we have endured. You can toss superfluous facts around all you like, but the fact remains that you are the heiress to this throne of the White Fang, is that clear?” He leaned forward, his strange amber-encircled eyes burning, like two smoldering coals of feverish, tyrannical passion. “We were hewn from nothing, and we are a force to be reckoned with now. It was a cause your parents gave their lives for, and now, I have taken you from your unorthodox, impoverished beginnings, and given you power. Do not waste it.”_

_All the fight seemed to drain out of Blake during his winding spiel, and she rocked back on her heels— but a hint of skepticism glowed in her eyes. “Yes, Lord.”_

_“Now go. Go comfort your partner.” Ayran smiled, fangs glinting through his bared teeth. “You may find that you lose him sooner than you had supposed.”_

_Before Yang could even react, or see the surprise that flashed across Blake’s face, she was snatched backward and pulled into a crushing nothingness, before—_

_Yang saw Adam, alone, head in hands. He was completely detailed here, nothing making him indistinct, all the affection that Blake had held gone. And then Blake herself came into the room, her gait stiff and controlled. “I’m here, Adam,” Blake said, face blank. “Like you asked. What do you want?”_

_Adam prowled in front of her; he was wearing a black suit, a scarlet design embleming the back of it. He was wearing the Grimm mask, and his presence seemed— menacing, somehow, a safety that could quickly spin into danger._

_“I want to know why you’re so— so cold as of late. You’ve changed. You can deny it, but you’ve changed fundamentally, Blake, and I’ve no idea—“_

_Blake growled. “You’re not just questioning me for Ayran? It seems you’re always begging at his heels these days—“_

_Adam brushed off the jibe with a wave of his gloved hand. “I consider your wellbeing of more importance than the fealty I render to Ayran, Blake. I care about you, and we’re Bonded; I can feel your anger. It’s there. Sometimes it fades a little, sure, but it’s like hooks under the surface. Always present.”_

_“I’m not angry, I’m—“ Blake broke off with a sigh, shadows chasing shadows in her eyes. “I’m_ disappointed.”

_“Why?” He looked baffled, even a bit hurt. “I don’t understand.”_

_“That’s exactly why. You don’t_ understand _. You can’t see what you’ve become. I don’t even know you anymore, but whoever— whatever— you are, you sure as hell aren’t the boy I knew and used to love.” She turned and vanished, and Yang saw that Adam had become blurred with a darker emotion— it turned his slanted eyes cold, his frown into a leer, the sadness on his face into menace: the gauzy shadows of Blake’s broken heart._

_The transition to the next memories shivered and thumped like a broken record, bars of light swinging crazily overhead . Yang realized they were the stars in the night sky, bright and unwavering and clear, broken up by clumps of tree branches._

_“Oh, Blake. I am_ very _pleased with your work tonight.”_

_Yang could hardly make out anything. The clinging, blotchy smudges of emotion were like the stains of tears: Yang’s heart contracted at the feelings of self-loathing and pure, unfettered terror that ran rampant, scrawled across the scene like it had been vandalized. Blake was on her knees, shaking, blood dripping from her hands—_

_Oh, no._

_Yang took in the scene with increasing horror. Ayran was there, watching with a look of such cold amusement that Yang longed to tear him to shreds, even though she knew that it was only a memory. Adam was not there. A form was lying— only a feet away— near Blake._

_Yang saw in an instant that it was a body, curled around itself, and it was dead. Maybe it was the skewed limbs, maybe it was the way it seemed_ limp, _as though something essential, some spark, had fled from the body. The blurring of horror and shock was strongest there, in the black pool of blood that ebbed out and stained Blake’s feet. She looked pallid and nauseous._

_“Well done, Blake, pet. You killed the Schnee bastard.” Ayran’s eyes abruptly darkened, like two torches pitched out. “I didn’t think you would.”_

_Blake’s whisper was barely audible, whispered only to herself. She was shaking, rocking back and forth on her heels. Blood dripped from wounds scored across her arms, her chest, and her eyes were haunted and huge in the darkness, her whisper showing the glancing flash of an incisor. “Neither did I.”_

_The memories swirled away, flipping past in flashes of light, color, and sound, like the whipping pages of a book: Yang caught glimpses of two figures closely entwined in a dance of their own, a lecherous smile and two jaded amber-green eyes, towers of bone and seas of blood, before a scene slowly solidified before her._

_Blake was backed against a wall and Adam was advancing on her, the white stripe of his Grimm mask glinting like an accusation. There was a scraping ring as he yanked his sword from his sheath and leveled the tip of it to her throat._

_“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”_

_She turned her head to the side and spat blood to the ground, her eyes cold with fury. She did not sound scared. “Cut my throat, then, Adam, if you please. Killing me won’t satisfy you.” She shifted, the sword jabbing further in her skin, the shadowy indention deepening. “Nothing will, will it? Accidents, self-defense, what needs to be done… how far will you go? When will this end?”_

_The sword moved erratically to the side as he snarled, cursing, and red trickled down the curve of Blake’s throat, pooling red into her collarbone. “Shut up, Blake!”_

_“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”_

_“Then you hear me,” he growled, “you double-dealing, backstabbing traitor. I renounce anything I’ve told you, revoke our Bond—“_

_“What’s going on here?” A furious voice roared through the harsh breathing and snarls of Adam and the shallow breaths of Blake. Adam’s sword dropped to the floor with a metallic ring as his head snapped around, staring intently into the shadows. A hulking figure emerged, his face uncharacteristically lined and stark. His Grimm mask was in one hand, snapped in two, and his eyes burned as he took in the scene. “There will be no revoking of Bonds while I’m here, Adam. Voluntarily, or otherwise.”_

_“Lord Ayran, I—“_

_The White Fang leader held up a hand swiftly, cutting Adam off mid-speech. “You,” he said, pointing to Adam, “Right now. Get out, immediately.”_

_“But I—“_

_“Adam,” Ayran snarled, his eyes slitted and deadly as a cobra’s, so full of danger and a thinly veiled madness that Yang shivered. “You heard me.”_

_Adam backed out with barely controlled deference, not before shooting a venomous glance at Blake. Ayran swung his glare on Blake next, and she flinched._

_“The inexorable anger of one so foolish… both of you, you should be ashamed.” Ayran looked with contempt at the blood on Blake’s neck, his eyes once more going cold and dark. “Go clean yourself, pet. Don’t let this kind of bickering happen again, is that clear?”_

_“Crystal,” she said lowly back at him, sidestepping Adam’s glimmering sword and disappearing into the shadows before the images fell into a screaming darkness that gradually lit onto one sharp image, bright and shining against Yang’s eyes._

_It showed her an older looking Blake. Scars marred her arms, and her eyes seemed darker, stained with shadows. She looked quite like the huntress that Yang knew, that she had devolved into this._

_As Yang watched, she unsheathed Gambol Shroud and slashed it through a cable, separating her and Adam. “Goodbye,” Blake whispered, and there was_ pain _in her voice, a pain that was indomitable and crushing, wretched and horrible. The red leaves of Forever Fall whirled through the widening abyss, and then everything shattered into darkness._

_But the memories didn’t stop, to Yang’s surprise; she had thought Blake’s story was over, after she had cut the train car. What else was there to tell, that Yang didn’t know?_

_But surprise flashed through her, perpetuated by the memories that Blake was showing that swam into her view._

_Yang saw herself._

_She saw herself as Blake had: herself, dragging Ruby over to befriend her. Herself, looking down at a grinning Blake from the back of a slain Ursa. Herself, fighting side by side with Blake. Herself, eyes hot with anger as Blake fled. Herself, smiling as she embraced her in the shipyard._

_Every image was different, but there was one things they all held in common._

_In every single one, she was beautifully, impossibly, lovingly blurred._

_The girl she saw looked like her, and yet was completely different. This Yang that Blake saw— she was graceful, her semblance suiting her well, rather than making her unwieldy, as Yang felt. This girl had a gracefulness, a sweetness about her that Yang was sure she didn’t possess. This girl— she was beautiful._

_And that was how Blake saw her, somehow. Beautiful._

_The memories seemed to rush away around her, her body dragged down into crushing darkness and a harsh whining ring blasted into her ears before she was—_

slamming back into her own body, Blake watching her with trepidation. Their hands were still twined together, and the bonds of fire still coiled down their arms, glowing like red-hot wires.

“Blake?” Yang said, the thought of how Blake saw her still fresh in her mind— the thought of it sent a thrill through her, a foreign feeling.

“The Bond is almost complete,” Blake said softly. Her hand clenched over Yang’s, a light, almost imperceptible thing. “Watch.”

And a circle of light shone fiercely from within their interlocked hands, beams of light shooting out from the shadows of their laced fingers, brighter than a star. An amber aura wrapped around them in an iridescent veil, and Blake was looking at her with a light in her eyes brighter than the pillars of thin fire that swirled around them.

When they let go, the light instantly vanished, but the tingling feeling remained in Yang’s chest. Blake looked sad, still, but this time, Yang could _sense_ it instead of merely seeing it on her face— like she shared the sorrow, too. She was a part of Blake. And Blake was a part of her. That was the Bond, that you were never truly alone.

Blake sank back onto the pillows, eyes closing. Yang felt a pang of alarm race through her. “Blake?”

A small, weary smile flashed across her partner’s face, though she didn’t open her eyes. “It’s all right, Yang. I’m just exhausted. The Bond saps my strength and gives it to you. It’s preliminary for what’s to come, in a manner.”  

“I’ve _taken_ your strength.” Yang sat back, processing that. “Do you— need it back?”

Blake’s eyes opened, flickering like flame, like an inner fire had been ignited somewhere within her. _Light,_ Yang thought, _she’s lighter. Like me._ “I _always_ need your strength, Yang.”


	16. Chapter XV - The Ashes of Our Fathers

**_Blake  
_ **

When Blake blinked open her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the rococo motifs of ivy creepers swirling across the ceiling.

Secondly, she was aware that she was alone in the room; Yang had gone, and that a metal bar was pressing in her back. She sat up with a wince, rubbed her shoulders ruefully, and looked around.

The infirmary, she realized; it was larger than she had imagined. She’d never been in the place. Had never needed help so direly. Lines of neat, plain cots went up and down warm, honey colored walls. The ceiling was lofty and arching, painted elaborately; windows let light stream down on each cot. A simple nightstand was by each cot. She hadn’t looked around yesterday to see where she was — she was still in blinding pain, though she had hidden that fact from Yang, and the Bonding ritual demanded her full, undivided attention. Blake closed her eyes, reached out mentally — and like a golden thread bestowed from Ariadne into Daedalus’s labyrinth, it connected. Her partner was asleep in the dorms, dreaming of something peaceful. A sense of wellbeing that was not Blake’s own flooded her.

Blake sat up, sending pain stabbing through her bruised body. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, and emotionally too — the idea that Yang had some idea now, of how much effect she had on Blake, was daunting, to say the least.

“At last, you wake. Thank the gods. I was growing concerned.”

Blake stiffened as a voice rang out in the room and a girl stepped through the door of the infirmary.

“How are you feeling?” Her voice was lustrous, warm; Blake thought of fire, which inevitably led to her thinking of Yang— all she’d been able to do lately. Her sunny smile, chipper voice, eternal optimism. She was, to use a colloquialism, the flame, and Blake felt like a moth drawn to the fire. Scolding herself, she shoved the thoughts away and sat up, ignoring the twinge of protest from her bruised joints.

“Well enough,” Blake said, which was true; she no longer burned with a fiery pain like she had after she had gotten smashed into the ground and felt darkness eating away like acid at the edge of her vision. “Who— who are you?”

The pain had been to save Yang, though. That was all Blake could ever ask of herself.

As the visitor emerged from the shade and into a wide pool of sunlight, Blake got a good look at her. She was tall and willowy, her hair tumbling over her shoulders in silvery-white waves, like the color of snow. Her eyes were two different colors: one a dark gold, the other an icy blue, and they regarded Blake with sadness. But she looked familiar, somehow— the regal set of her jaw, the heart-shaped curve of her face, and then, unchecked and unbidden, the two ears of a Faunus emerging from the top of her head.

She looked, Blake thought, somehow— _somehow—_ like her own father.

“I am Khione,” she said, and even her voice shifted and seemed somehow similar to something, somewhere, that Blake had forgotten— silvery, polished and melodious, “Khione Belladonna.”

Blake’s heart jumped at that. “Your surname _— it’s— ”_

Khione smiled slightly, though there was no happiness in it, only a faint regret. “You are not the only survivor of your line, I’m afraid. I am your father’s sister, and I, too, am a renegade of the White Fang.”

“You’re—?” Blake halted as the words sank in, and she shrank back, cold. So many years, she had believed in lies. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

She laughed, a brief flash of amusement crossing her face. “Every bit of suspicion, you are, just like my brother. I do not require you believe me, of course, only that you hear me out. But I assure you, I do not make false to you of my blood. Headmaster Ozpin is a good man, and he did not discern a lie from me.” Her eyes grew sorrowful and she tilted her head, those odd two-toned eyes scrutinizing Blake. “Forgive me if seeing you brings up… memories. It is difficult to be here. You look a great deal like your parents, and I— I miss them very much.”

 _Ozpin let this girl in here, then._ Blake swallowed at her puzzling words and bit back all the questions gathering on her tongue, starting with the first. “Why are you here?” 

“A just question. Blake, there are many things you have yet to learn of your past. Your father,” Khione said softly, “knew that I was going to leave the White Fang. I grew tired of their cruelty and bold plans, and so, I left. I have not been hunted down— they did not decide I was worth the effort, unlike Tukson, of whom was higher ranking than I— and so Brian sought me out before he departed with his army to fight. He, too, had grown disillusioned with the ideals of the White Fang, but he— he was in too deep, too deep with their plans and plots and ranks, to leave, and he was afraid to tell your mother, Maria, of the secrets he had discovered. He told me he would write Maria a letter, once he had discovered more of the White Fang’s plans. Maria would then pass that letter on to me, imparting these secrets— vital, he assured me, to the well-being of Remnant— finally to you, his daughter. Your mother knew she was going to die, and your father knew he was going to die. There was no way Ayran would let them live with all they had discovered—but they both wanted you to live. Unfortunately, you…” Guilt glimmered in her eyes. “You remained with the White Fang, until you left, too, of your own accords. Your father had previously bade me to seek you out on the zenith of your seventeenth year, wherever you where, and to give unto you a letter. It took me longer than I would have liked— you evade records very well, Blake, and you are a difficult one to find, thus why I am here months after you have passed into seventeen— but I found you here.” She paused, looking around the grandeur around them with a faint surprise. “Admittedly, a place I did not expect to ever see…”

Head spinning, Blake croaked out, “So I was never supposed to be in the White Fang. My parents— they both knew they were going to die? And they accepted that?

“Yes, Blake. I’m sorry.”

A growl hissed lowly in her throat. “That’s all you have for me— a letter from a dead man who didn’t even have the courage to flee?”

Khione’s eyes sparked with an unexpected anger, like sunlight blinding off of snow. She frowned. “Brian Belladonna was a brave man, Blake. Your father gave his life in pursuit of stopping Ayran’s madness. Do not slight him. He had the courage to walk into a war and know he would not return, but he still did what he could to give you a warning passed through time.”

Blake’s teeth ground together. “What did he say in the letter?”

“I do not know what it contains, for he beseeched me to leave it for you, unmarred. And so I honored his wishes.” She thrust it hastily at Blake, hand shaking, a rolled scroll bound with a tattered string. “You must know— for my brother, I would have done anything. But there are dark plans transpiring, and the White Fang is once again rising to the former glory it once held, twelve years past.” She looked Blake in the eye, pleading. “Do right by my brother,” she said, “what he would have wanted. And, Blake…”

“What?”

“‘ _Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; a vice sometime by action dignified_.’” Khione’s eyes were as unreadable as the movement of snowfall. “You would do many things in the name of love, Blake Belladonna, many things, would you not?”

“I don’t—”

“Just as treasonous acts are committed in the intention of pureness, good things are done in the name of evil. The White Fang are corrupt, but even they started out with pure intentions. Virtues and vice are brother and sister, like night and day, light and dark. It simply means that using good deeds for bad reasons transforms those good deeds into bad deeds. And that bad deeds can sometimes be honourable, if they are done for the right reasons. Sacrifice and honor. They mean something.” She leaned forward and brushed a lock of hair from Blake’s forehead, eyes sorrowful. “I wish you luck. I’m sorry you have suffered so much, been dealt such a hand in your years. You are wise, Blake, and you are strong, but times are coming when we will all be pushed beyond our limits. It is then that true heroes will rise, and the damned will fall. But pay heed— let no one hinder you from pursuing Fate.”

And then she was gone. 

Even with the sunlight pouring down through the windows, Blake was chilled straight to her heart. 

 

* * *

 

She turned the letter over. The coarse envelope was torn here and there, bound by an aged wax seal. She ran a nail under it and it popped open; she discarded the envelope on the sheets, withdrawing a folded up piece of paper.

Blake unfurled it gingerly, eyes narrowing at the spidery, slanted, loopy handwriting that was scrawled across the page. The paper was sooty, ragged at the edges as though eaten by acid. A splash of blood rusted the paper in a dark red splotch. 

_Day 78 of the Red War, Trench 34—_

_I fear I may not make it out alive._

_It is grim. Drearily, I write this letter as rain pours down outside and the distant fire of scythes and gunshots shatter the silence. It has been ages since I was able to write a letter back home, of course. My hand shakes as I place this stub of a pencil to the paper; it is a miracle in itself that I am intact and not afflicted like so many others. Rations are low. So is the morale of this place. Being indefinitely positioned on the lines of fire has me looking over my shoulder, still, I almost can taste the reek of blood. The corpses of my fellows have long since rotted away with the ash and dust that descend on us. It is a stalemate for now. They have not told us, but I know it as deeply as in my bones._

_In the trenches, it is lethal, and nothing so like the comfort of kinship and home. It is hellish here, a terrible place. I never would have suspected that in time, I would grow to long for the corrugated warehouse of the White Fang… yet, I do. I miss you, Maria, and our daughter, Blake, whom I hardly got to know. I can still see your eyes, bright amber, almost as if it was yesterday I departed with my legion. Yet I fight on. It is the only thing within my power to do. I refuse to turn tail like a coward. Besides, climbing from these trenches into the barrens above means a death, a certain death. I know I will not return from this war, and I will not take such things for granted again._

_The sky hangs overhead as an undulating screen of gray. It is difficult to discern the sun behind the clouds. The myriad of soldiers all blend into one another after this long. The arrangement of the ammunition that we are supplied with is only matched by the incongruity of the soldiers’ corpses and our surroundings. It is a cesspool of mud, Maria— how you would fear to see the filth of the place, you, who was so meticulous!— a reeking demise of carrion and spoiled rations. The rats run amok. The threat of death is always lingering in the fire of artillery, the new, savage Droids, the grim mist of chemicals. So many Faunus have perished, in agonizing deaths. All by the cruelty of humans, and yet, I doubt in some manners…_

_Ah, but a merely an old fool would maunder about the morality of war. There’s nothing just and noble about it in any way. We fight for ourselves. The humans are as well. The stars may cross, uncross, and cross again, but it still is a fact that we all want stolid rightness for ourselves._

_This place is a sinful one, a Hell on this earth if there ever was one, and I am no saint. There is a suspicion that I will not make it out of here, for as time drags on, it grows to be a bloodier and desperate affair— or even the war itself!— because this is, Maria, a brutal place to be. It is tantamount to a death wish, remaining in these perilous and horrendous conditions. The rats, the lice— they are everywhere, running rampant. Alas, we cannot do anything about it. We are animals ourselves, and this I write bitterly, for the humans see us as such. It’s what we fight for: equality. And it is my greatest fear that we will lose, and be blamed for this carnage. They always fear what is different._

_None of us has bathed since we climbed into these godforsaken pits. Indeed, it seems as if a permanent layer of grime is coated on everyone and everything. The Droids have already slaughtered the most obstreperous of us, and an eerie silence of despair has taken their place. It’s a harsh lesson to learn in war— that even a second’s indecision can result in death._

_The trenches are arbitrarily vicious in their regard. There is little refuge from the driving rain, bitter snow, even the hottest beams of sunlight. On these barrens of Remnant, the wastelands that outskirt Forever Fall, it is prone to be wracked with storms. We only may sleep in the stuffy dugouts, which are often filled with deluges of mud. When we are roused from sleep, it is by the acerbic tirade of the higher-ups._ _The thick pools of mud are often waist high, and yet the trench runners never give utterance to grievance. Perhaps they are the luckiest of us, for keeping in action staves the chill of war away. It is never silent, save for those brief moments, as if the space between heartbeats; the air is perpetually rent with gunfire, the shrieks of the Droids, and the abrupt screams of the killed. The bombs go up in flame, debris, and choking smoke, making a pyre for those unfortunate souls who were not able to escape._  
  
_When we were urged into this war, they painted for us, in glowing sentences, the prospect of honor and glory for our people, the Faunus. It was a lie. There is nothing honorable in this hell between two dark places. This stalemate is bloody, and people are slaughtered by the tenfold. There is no place to hide, not even within the dugouts, for these trenches were not designed for safety. They were designed to give respite long enough to kill our opponents, that is all. But as for you and Blake…_

Blake’s hands shook as she clutched the paper so tightly it crinkled, words blurring as her chest tightened. She read on, heart thudding. 

_… I digress from blathering about my own hardships. Under duress, I would not dare to confide such a thing, but a confidante of mine shall pass this off to you. Maria, to extoll the miseries of my placement is not why I write to you. The matter is of a much, much greater urgency. I have discovered something I was not supposed to; something I overheard from the lummox-friends of young deputy Ayran. And I am scared as the war has not frightened me, Maria. Not for myself, but for you and my daughter. And her being a Faunus will only make this that much harder. We are as distrusted as any._

_Ayran plans a revolution. He plans a complex plan of deceit and secrecies, allied with humans, to overthrow all of Remnant. Vale, Atlas, Mistral, Vacuo— he will slaughter any opposers, and crown himself leader. It’s unorthodox. He’ll kill every human, and the Faunus shall rule this world. It is not such a far-fetched plan; he has strong allies, within turncoat Huntsmen and Huntresses alike. I heard names muttered… perhaps they are weapons to this revolt. He has power even I know not of— with new Droids, the savagery of the Grimm. And he will kill by the hundredfold. He’s a clever Faunus. Brutal— and he is mad, of course, but it is a malicious, clever madness. He will promote those with nothing to gain their loyalty— and like most tyrants, he knows exactly the steps to power, and what to do to attain that ambition. Obtaining this world will not be difficult, he if isn’t afraid to raze it to the ground to get what he wants._

_He’s cruel and calculating. And he will stop at nothing. He knows that I have doubts. I_ will _die in this war, and if not, then he will arrange my death, but you— you and Blake— you must live._

_Why should I care about it? I puzzle over it as I write to you in this flickering candlelight— bewildered. Ayran is of my kin and blood. And by all rights, his plan promises a glorious new world for the Faunus, subjugated from the hardships of others… I, who am a Faunus, should be supportive of this mad scheme. But I find myself horrified. Lust for power has blinded Ayran to the outcomes, Maria. Without humans, the Grimm will swiftly overwhelm us… we will return to Dust. Not all humans are corrupt and cruel, just as all Faunus are not victims. There’s always deviations. And I am one. This in itself may cost me my life._

_Maria, my love, my light, this is the last I write to you. It pains me to write that word, ‘last’, for we thought ourselves as eternal. But I see now that nothing can last forever. The ashes of our fathers have seen such, to make war and call it peace…Fear not. I do not believe that I cannot die; I believe that are things worth dying for, and this one of them. Power is not good or bad, but its user makes it so. Ayran is wholly corruption. There is nothing left of him to appeal to._

_You must get out of the White Fang as soon as you are able. Take Blake with you; I cannot stress this enough. My daughter should not live in such a world of cutthroat violence. I do not know when this revolution will take place— in months or even years— but it is coming, of that there is no doubt. The White Fang is not yet so callous as it will become; Julian is the only one keeping things calm. If Ayran usurps power, all will be lost. He is a despot, a tyrant, and so few know it, behind his charming words. If you flee now, they will not hunt you. Fallacies would have you think that things will improve over time after this War. They will not, I know, and I fear to know. Ayran is a danger to you. Get out of there. I love you._

_And to my daughter, who may never see this letter… but I reach out anyways. My dear, words on paper are not enough and will never be enough; I regret that you may grow up without me. I never wanted this enmity of Faunus and Human, of black and white. I have only an old fool’s words to say to you through the ghost of a letter. Blake, I do not want to give you rules, to restrict your light. No one should contain the spark that I know you can be._

_But I do ask this. Do not be a better fighter than I was. Be a better_ person _than I was. I let the foolish ideas of powerful and weak corrupt who I was, and that is how this war started: through those who fester in peace. Vilified words from the lauded can twist the way the past really was, but those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it._

_I ask that you find your own path._

_People will try to dictate who you are, Blake, by your blood and origins. But I tell you this; let no one tell you who you are. That is for you to find out yourself, and for you to command. You are the master of your own destiny. And that is a God-given right._

_I love you. I hope that in time, when you read this, the world will be a place where you can be who you are, and a safe place for your own._

— Brian Belladonna, Legion III, Officer Five

Blake wasn’t aware of letting the paper fall, of letting it float to the bed. Her hands were shaking hard, and then she could see her father’s gruff face in her mind: the proud sweep of his tall ears, scarred cheeks, bright gray eyes as he picked her up and smiled at her. She had thought for so long that he had been _supportive_ of the White Fang’s oppressive ideals, that he had eagerly marched off to war and recklessly gotten himself _killed._ She barely remembered him, of course, but…

He knew. He cared. He had found out information and recorded it— the information they had been hunting for; of Ayran’s motives and his goal. There it was— the information. That was why Torchwick had allied himself with Ayran. That was why Adam was so loyal. That was the answer— right in the letter of a man who had died before he could know the outcome.

But there were still unanswered questions now, burning with a greater urgency than ever. _Why?_ That _couldn’t_ be the only motive here. Who had Torchwick’s partner been, the little girl at the warehouse? Who was his employer?

Who was behind it all? Who would want the world rid of humans, of all life itself? Who hated civilization so desperately?

And her mother— she had been killed in a supposed skirmish on the borders. But now Blake wondered if she had been murdered, instead, for plotting to leave the White Fang. Her mind was ticking, puzzle pieces falling into place. Maybe that was why Ayran had so cleverly ensured that she and Adam would be partnered. And that was their motive: total rule, tyranny of all of the kingdoms of Remnant. Such a brutal, simple goal, but such destruction it could wreak - it was terrifying, because she  _knew_ Adam and she  _knew_ Ayran and the thought of them inciting something like that made her want to throw up. 

 _God,_ she thought, eyes closing. It had all seemed so simple yesterday. And she was in even more trouble if—

Her Scroll buzzed.

Blake picked it up half-heartedly, heart sinking as a message popped up, from Yang, of course.

 **_9:27 AM —_ ** _You know, I can feel you moping right now. What’s up?_

She swallowed and put it down, unable— unwilling— to respond. Her father’s words still rang in her mind. _But I do ask this. Do not be a better fighter than I was. Be a better_ person _than I was._

She had failed tremendously on that account, being partners with Adam; she had murdered innocent people, ruined lives, stolen away what was never hers. She had answered to a tyrant and done it all in the determination of being _right._ She felt like a jack o’ lantern lately, like all her insides had been torn out and left her void and empty, all while a false, grinning smile remained fixated on her face. 

Choking on hollowness, Blake closed her eyes; the ghost of a voice was turning over and over in her mind, and she couldn’t rid herself of her doubts… 

_The mind doesn’t choose who you fall in love with. That’s the heart’s job, the heart alone, and logic has nothing to do with it._

She had loved Adam once, with his kind voice and strength when she couldn’t be strong and his determination. Now, she wondered, if that had just been charisma, ruthlessness, hatred, all in disguise. All transformed by her own foolishness, her determination to see the good in him, and ignore the evil. 

Maybe if she hadn’t been so intent on being good, she wouldn’t have fallen in love with Yang. It seemed useless to pretend at this point. If her father knew her now, she would only be a disappointment. 

Blake stilled as a faculty member came in, not willing to protest against someone fussing over her. The nurse started clucking her tongue disapprovingly at Blake’s upright position as she busied herself with removing the bandages. “Though it is _your_ fault that you’re here,” she said, “against my protests, the headmaster feels it is wise to release you. Your damage is short term, except for the cut across your shoulder. That, I am afraid, will not heal seamlessly by any means, but perhaps it is best to serve as a reminder of the perils of the outside world.” 

Blake winced as the nurse pressed a stinging substance to her shoulder. “So what you’re saying is that I’ll have a scar.” _Like I needed another one._

The nurse raised a brow, gently peeling back bandages and discarding them, dabbing gauze soaked in poultices and water on her cuts, which— due to the nature of Aura, and of the Bond, were little more than fading lines now. “A large one, but it will be hidden, yes. You seem to have healed unnaturally fast.” Her eyes were suspicious, but knowing, as well, and Blake’s mouth curved up in the ghost of a smile. 

“You know how Bonding is.” 

The nurse shook her head with a soft laugh. “Of course.” She threw away the last of the bandages. “You are free to go, dear. Though I strongly advice, unless you want to end up back in here, that you take it easy for a few days. No sparring, fighting, or anything of the sort. Limit yourself to the more… docile courses of study.” 

Blake tasted a bitter bile at the back of her mouth, the letter from her dead father hidden in the waistband of her pants. “Of course.” 

 

* * *

 

She couldn’t feel her hands, which was probably a bad thing, but she couldn’t really muster up the energy to care about it. Her Scroll had buzzed about twenty times, and each time she didn’t pick it up to answer back, a spike of anxiety went through her; not her own, but Yang’s, so sharply honed she could feel it through the Bond. But her eyes were glued on the screen, and she _would not_ be torn away from it this time. She had gone far too long with losing herself in feelings and thought, but now she was taking it back. 

A spike of impatient anger from Yang surged through the Bond. Blake brushed it off and kept typing. Emotions were easy to ignore when they weren’t your own. It was a race against time now; to stop the White Fang — they had even more trouble than they thought — she couldn’t allow this to happen, she _couldn’t._

_Bang._

Blake startled, nearly falling from her seat as Yang burst into the library, eliciting a glare from Ren and a snore from Nora, who were both nearby. Her eyes were still lilac — at least she wasn’t angry enough for her semblance, which she had explained the previous day— but there was a steely glint in them all the same. 

“I should have thought I would find you here,” Yang growled as she drew close, cutting the distance between them. Her leather-bound hands slammed on either side of the table. “I message you. No answer. I call. No answer. Did you think that I wouldn’t want to make sure you were okay? After that little stunt you pulled on the highway, of all things, and now you’re out of the infirmary and didn’t even let me know? I went and asked Ozpin if I could visit you, and he said _no,_ that someone else was talking to you. And he wouldn’t tell me who it was. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that now you’re miserable again. I thought after we all made the plan, you would be less stressed.” 

Blake swallowed, trying to summon up a coherent sentence. It came out in a low growl. “The visitor was just… just someone else from the school concerned about me.” The lie tasted bitter in her throat: _you are not the only renegade from the White Fang. “_ I’m not miserable. I’m fine,” she snapped. “There are still unanswered questions, and it looks like _I’m_ the only one that _cares—_ ” 

“ _Nice_ try, Blake. You think I can’t sense _this_?” She tapped the place where Blake’s heart was beating, fast, from adrenaline… and something else. Her eyes softened. “Blake, please, tell me what’s wrong. If I knew you were sad before, it’s twice as worse now—“ 

Something stronger than bands of iron seized around her heart. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She shifted in front of the computer hologram, hiding her searches; her father’s letter seemed to burn like molten fire against her skin. “Please, just — go.” 

Hurt shot across her partner’s face; Blake heart staggered as it went through her, too. The Bond seemed to be multiplied twofold; every emotion spiked and concentrated as a blow to the chest. Perhaps it was because Yang was so different from Adam. 

Or perhaps… perhaps it was something else.

“Fine, then. If that’s what you want.” 

_It’s not what I want,_ Blake thought, her heart knotting as Yang walked away, slowly, as if she were injured, and not just from the fight two nights ago. But she was walking away all the same. _But it’s all I can do to keep you safe._

_To keep you all safe from who I’ve become._

_/ / /_

 

 **A/N:** Some of you might be wondering as to why Blake wouldn’t be able to sense the love Yang holds for her, or vice versa. It’s hard to tell what emotions are your own, especially when they are both exactly the same. My answer to that is that Yang is in love with Blake, and Blake is in love with her, though neither realize it yet — so they mistake the other’s feelings for their own. Nifty, but really hurts all you _sure fans_ of the ‘miscommunication trope'.   
Comments are always greatly desired! It also might help to know that I am in the beginning stages of planning the sequel to this, covering Volumes 3 and 4...

 


	17. Chapter XVI - A Door Into the Dark

_**Blake** _

**  
** Six days. ** _  
_**

It had been six agonizing days of forcing herself to stay away from Yang. Six days of fruitless research. Six days of sleepless nights as scrawled words and Torchwick’s taunting laugh ran circles in her mind.

And she was going to go mad.

Try as she might, every search of her father’s letter, each one more desperate than the last, yielded nothing. He had hardly known anything, and Aryan had still arranged his death for it. But she had to keep searching, she _had_ to, there was no time to rest, there was nothing else for it…. she had to keep moving forward. And staying away from her team was her way of punishing herself for allowing this to happen — for not being a better person and seeing the monster she had become years ago.

She was aware of their worried glances, the way they would shut up when she entered a room, as if they were talking about her. And since the Bond — things were only worse, a pain and anxiety that were not her own always gnawing at her heart. She was falling for Yang, and hated herself for it. What was she supposed to do, when the monster was _inside_ of her?

Suddenly, her Scroll gave a loud, sharp beep, and she jumped, startled— but it was not the notification for a message, but for herself. Frowning, Blake picked it up. Her haunted reflection glimmered back at her from the screen.

After the time she’d been on the run from the White Fang and spasmodically searching for Beacon, effacing any traces of her past and using spurious identities to hitch from one place to the next, she’d had to alter her appearance. She’d let her hair grow out to a dark waterfall of sun-lightened ebony, experimented with it from sporadic and choppy layers, twisting it up into all sorts of arrays that had always seemed false and forced. But the same dark smudge of shadows had remained under her eyes, like someone had taken the flat of their thumb and smeared a grayish fan of charcoal there. The same sunken, leeched-of-color look had returned. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. And she hadn’t, if you counted sleep as a wholly uninterrupted thing, unscathed by any nightmares or obsessions. Her skin itself even seemed gaunt, pallid, angular over the sharp lines of her cheekbones, her eyes were lifeless, flat gold like the awful colors of a dying season. Exhausted and worn-down to the last thread, fraying. She felt a tremor go through her and she looked down at her Scroll; her Aura was in the red. _Danger,_ the screen said in bold block letters. _You are approaching critical levels of fatigue._ The scarlet flickered mockingly up at her, the darkish-red rippling in a block of translucent blue. But she didn’t feel tired at all, just jittery and on edge.

She put down the Scroll and looked back to the computer, fingers resuming their frantic search into her past.  
  
 

* * *

 

**_Yang_ **

_“You were carried here by hands_

_and now the wind has you, gritty_

_as incense, dark sparkles borne_  


_in the shape of blowing,_

_this great atmospheric bloom,_

_spinning under the bridge and expanding—_  


_shape of wind and its pattern_

_of shattering. Having sloughed off_

_the urn's temporary shape,_

 

_there is another of you now—_

_tell me which to speak to:_

_the one you were, or are, the one who waited_  


_in the ashes for this scattering, or the one_

_now added to the already haunted woods,_

_the woods that sigh and shift their leaves—_  


_where your mystery billows, then breathes.”_

_— unknown_

 

Yang put the poem down, feeling sick inside, like there was a noose slowly tightening around her throat. She had not planned on this, hadn’t planned for her time at the school to be this way. _Tell me which to speak to— the one you were, or are._

Blake was fading back into her past, stepping through a door into the dark. To a place where Yang could not follow— despite her desperate attempts, like ash, Blake was slipping and sighing away. In the library, her partner had been stoically expressionless, but her eyes were hollow and sick with misery, the pressing weight of it as jagged as lightning as it scorched through the Bond. _As ashes; the ghost of that what once was. From whence you came, to the hands of the earth._

“Yang, I don’t mean to intrude, but… are you all right?”

Yang swung her head up from staring at her hands, mapped with a webwork of silver scars, to see Pyrrha of all people, blinking down at her.

“Oh. Hi, Pyrrha.”

Pyrrha pulled up a chair, the legs screeching slightly on the floor. “You look depressed,” was all she said. “I overheard your sister and Weiss expressing their concern for Blake, but also for you…”

“Did you? Damn little buggers can’t keep their mouths shut. Were they just flapping their gums aimlessly?”

“Well, no,” Pyrrha admitted. “They were playing Conquerers of Remnant with Nora and Sun in the library and it… happened to come up as a topic. You’re not the only one worried, you know. Sun cares about the both of you, and so do all of us. You can’t reproach us for our anxieties.”

Yang sank back in her chair, feeling the solid sadness from Blake pulse through her Bond. “I know. It’s not that easy.”

“You might well try to simplify it.” Her green eyes were sympathetic. “You’re always so… _bright —_ it’s easy to see that you’re feeling under the weather. What is troubling you?”

“It’s Blake.” Yang chewed her lip. “No surprise there. She’s been running herself into the ground, she’s in the library day after day. She seems so— closed off sometimes. Like I can never reach her. And that’s fine, I mean, I know she’s…” Yang waved her hand to indicate a vague disconcertion. “She’s like that. But I just… I don’t know. Some days she’ll be whole and then the next day it’s like someone flipped a switch and she’s a completely different person.”

Pyrrha smiled slightly, looking at the patterns pressed into the armor on her wrists. “It’s no secret that you care for her.” And then, “Perhaps — have you tried locating the cause of her sorrow?”

“Yeah. No dice. And I— when you say _care—”_

“We’re all very much aware of the emotions that have, however unwittingly, transpired between the pair of you,” Pyrrha said, a hint of amusement coloring her voice as she warmed up to the task. “And the smitten expressions are no secret—”  

Yang flushed a color that would put the shade of Ruby’s hair dye to shame. “That’s enough talk about _me,_ Nikos. Are you trying to pretend that there’s nothing between you and Potato-Man Extraordinaire over there?”

Pyrrha looked offended. “Jaune is _not —_ I’ll have you know he’s improved immensely. He just gets… doubtful, that’s all.”

Yang deflated at that, one hand gently following the curled line of poetry. “Don’t we all.”

Pyrrha touched her shoulder lightly, all motherly once more. “My mother was fond of a saying, once. _‘When you have hit rock bottom, all is not lost; you merely have a solid foundation to build up from.’_ Perhaps what your partner needs is not to be pushed, Yang, but to have someone understand what she is going through. And you, as her partner, but also as her best friend, should be there to do that.”

Yang felt as though a weight had been removed from her shoulders. She grinned at Pyrrha. “Yeah— yeah, thanks. You ever thought about running a nice little therapist side-job?”

Pyrrha flexed her fingers against her narrow-spun gauntlets. “It’s always been my destiny to become a Huntress and to protect the world.” She looked up with a fierce gleam in her eyes. “It’s my _destiny_ to live and follow my own path. Nothing will deter that.”

 

* * *

  

**_Blake_ **

“Okay— yeah, yeah— stick the speaker there— _ow,_ goddammit, not on my toe— _by the windows,_ I said! _Neptune!_ Stop touching the ribbons before you screw them up! Sun— no, no! Not the balloons, for the love of—”

_Pop!_

Sun let out an epithet that would have gotten him kicked out of class at Mistral, and a round of laughter rang out through the room, along with a sigh from Weiss.

Blake looked around the corner into the ballroom where the decorations were taking place. A lump seemed to settle in her throat as she saw her team and Sun and Neptune laughing and joking as they arranged the room. The sight of their happiness made her heart ache dully, as if it were a hollow implement and someone had struck her once, leaving her ringing with emptiness.

As if Yang sensed her, she turned around from placing a speaker down. But Blake had already moved on, through the hallways, out into the night.

It was cold and clear, almost dreamlike, as if she were swimming through the air. The sky was streaked with clouds, stars peeking out from the clear channels between. The moon grinned down at her like a skull, and Blake shuddered.

She stopped by one of the fountains, splashed the icy water on her face in the distant hope of wringing some energy from herself. The water rejuvenated her, somewhat, but her expression remained tormented and warped in the rippling surface. The moon was already at its zenith, and the water glared fiercely silver, detritus of leaves bobbing on the surface. It felt as if the chill of autumn had seeped right into her veins, chilling her blood into crystals of red ice, pluming clouded waves of chill through her very bones.

In the time since she had first stepped across the threshold into her Beacon— out of her old life, into the new— she’d hesitated, seen mirrors glancing her reflection back at her. She’d been flushed then, her eyes bright, put-together and guarded.

Now, she looked different, falling apart at the seams. Blake stared down at herself in the water, the moonlight drawing up sharp shadows under her chin and her cheeks. Her face was hard with a haggard, lean and drawn look. Her pensive expression matched only the new hollow shadows colored under her eyes. Her exhaustion was suffused with enervated desperation and a bravado that she did not truly feel.

Mist curled off the water as she broke her hands into it again, sending a splash up that rippled angrily out in little rifles, shattering the thin ice that had begun to reform. _If there is any hope for a change,_ she thought, scarcely knowing what deity she was sending a weak prayer to, _send me a sign; please._

She held her breath, her blood singing in the strange whistling wind of the night. Utter silence pressed down around the courtyard, a depthless quiet, as if the world was holding its breath, before the tiniest rustle crackled above her head.

She raised her gaze, eyes searching, before she saw a tiny bird— a little, golden mottled partridge—  spread its wings and soar off in a soundless flight. She didn’t follow its angle, because her eyes had landed on the bird’s perch. It was a thick trunk of an oak tree, the bark wrinkled and old. The autumn leaves on this branch were extraordinarily bright, even for Remnant, a shimmering, seething sort of saffron-gold. The bird’s nest was rimmed with light lilac petals, and Blake’s eyes narrowed. _It’s just a bird, then,_ she realized, disappointed, though the color combo made her uneasy, for some reason she was too worn out to speculate at.

 _That doesn’t help anything,_ she thought, angry at herself for expecting some response, however meager. She had gotten so caught up in her fatigue and sleepless ghosts that now she was praying to things that didn’t exist and getting angry at the patterns of life.

With a new weariness curving her shoulders, Blake turned from the cold, thin laughing of the mocking night wind, and headed for home.

 

* * *

  
  
**_Yang_ **

Yang twisted her gauntlets into a passive mode, and Ruby flipped her a double thumbs up, possibly seeing the stubborn determination lighting her gaze.

“You gonna go smack some sense into her?” Ruby asked as Yang passed her.

“I mean, hopefully I’ll be refraining from any force, but sure, that’s one way to put it.”

Weiss raised a brow, looking up from her studies. “I wish you luck, Yang, but you better have a flawless plan. Ruby and I have already tried talking sense into her. She won’t listen; she’s so hellbent on this mad search of answers.”

“Yeah, I know,” Yang muttered, feeling the dual weight of their stares: blue, gray. “I’m not a wizard. I can try to talk to her, but in the end…” Yang swallowed. “I hate this. I can feel her sadness now. And it’s awful.  This kind of feeling should _not_ be becoming a familiar thing to me, or to her.”

Ruby and Weiss exchanged unnerved glances; Yang wondered if they had ever considered Bonding, but she quickly dismissed the idea as soon as it had come. They were much better friends now, but Weiss wasn’t likely to give up such a monumental part of herself, even to her partner.

“Well,” Ruby said after a long gap of silence, “you could always try to tempt her with the dance again.”

An idea flitted into Yang’s head, as if Ruby’s words had reached over and yanked down a dark curtain over her vision, leaving a single glowing idea suspended there. “You know what, Rubes? I think I’ll try that. Thanks.”

Ruby called after her as Yang trotted out of the door, a spring in her step: hope. “You owe me! I’m not opposed to being paid in cookies, you know!”

Laughing, Yang swung the door shut and stepped out into the dark hallways.

Finding Blake was easy; Yang closed her eyes, groped around mentally while holding the thought of Blake in her head— what she looked like, how she spoke, the familiar feel of her emotion, her laughter— like a phone call connecting, like some invisible cord in her mind, she could _sense_ where Blake was. _The Bond is pretty handy even despite the whole emotional weight of it,_ she mused, turning a left and heading to the library. _Though… God, I can really see how it could be abused, especially with her._

She wasn’t on the upper level, where the books resided. Yang wove her way through other teams and students catching up on sleep, clattering down the weathered stone steps and to the hologram area. Blake blended in among the other students frantically catching up on their homework, but the shadows under her eyes were darker, and the torment on her face was not because of slipping grades.

She didn’t look up as Yang approached, and Yang finally stopped at the edge of the table, crossing her arms over her chest.

Blake’s head jerked up, her chair skittering back with the sharp motion. Her skin was drained of all color, showing the dark rings around her eyes. She looked at Yang as if she were staring down the barrel of a gun.

“I… Yang. You scared me.” And then, her voice sharp as broken glass, “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Really? Why not?” Yang folded her arms, cold seeping through her, as if she had swallowed ice cubes. “Is it the fact that you’ve been ignoring me and pushing me away every time I try to talk to you and to understand what’s wrong? Or is it something else?”

Blake mouth thinned to a hard line, like chiseled stone. Yang could feel her reluctance and anger, crackling through the air, crackling through the Bond. “Something else such as I’m the only one noticing that peace is fragile and that we’re not as safe as we thought we were? I’m sure our enemies are loitering around, prepping dances and not trying to figure out answers just like—”

“You can’t get angry at us when all you do is push us away,” Yang said softly. She held her ground as a feeling of shame tingled through the Bond, and Blake swallowed, the muscles in her throat contracting slightly.

“I…”

“But that’s not why I’m here. Blake. I want to talk to you. Now.”

Blake’s eyes flashed back to the screen. “But—“

“No. Enough searching. Enough shutting yourself down. Come on.” Yang gripped her hand, pulling her — without resistance — up out of the chair, out of the library. Something told her that whatever she had done, Blake wouldn’t have fought back; perhaps it was her way of punishing herself.

She dragged them into an abandoned classroom, late afternoon sunlight pouring through the high windows. It was vacant, the air silent, as if holding its breath.

“Yang, don’t tell me to stop,” Blake said as soon the door swung shut with an audible _click_ , her hands folded behind her back. “If you brought me here to tell me that, you’re just wasting your breath.”

“Not to stop, no.” Yang sat on the desk, beckoning her partner. Blake sat stiffly. “I want you to talk to me. To help me understand.  Not as your partner or teammate. But,” she paused, Pyrrha’s words echoing in her mind, “as— as your friend. You promised me that, didn’t you, all those weeks ago?”

Blake stared down at her hands, like they would yield the answers. “I cannot make you understand, Yang. I cannot make anybody understand what is happening inside me.” Her voice dwindled, anguish filling it. “I cannot even explain it to myself.”

“Give it a shot, then.”

Blake turned away, her words shaking. “ _Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris? Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior._ It is my fault,” she said, softly, “my fault; my own most grievous fault.”

She looked up, and there was such an unguarded, raw pain in her eyes that it felt wrong to look at it, like it would cleave her in two. “None of this would be happening if it weren’t for who I used to be. If I hadn’t stayed in the White Fang like a coward…”

“Blake, _no.”_ Yang caught at her sleeve, feeling as if her heart was cracking in two. She pulled her into a close hug, as if that was all that could keep her from falling apart. Blake didn’t resist, but she was shaking, and Yang buried her head in her partner’s shoulder, forcibly willing herself to be strong.

“You are the strongest person I have ever known, Blake Belladonna,” Yang whispered against her neck. “You forged yourself a new life and home by yourself. Most people would be shattered by that, but you weren’t. You aren’t _most._ Not to me.”

Blake’s heartbeat was unsteady and she detached herself, turning away, always turning away. “You don’t really know who I am,” she said raggedly, “or you wouldn’t say that.”

Yang set her jaw and faced her. Blake’s eyebrows shot up at the fire in Yang’s eyes; she felt a pulse of _something—_ some constricting emotion— flicker through the Bond. “Wrong again. I _know_ you. I know the girl who was beaten down at rallies. I know the girl who wanted someone to listen and treat her equal for once, the girl who doesn’t want pity, but understanding. I know the girl who walked out of her own life because she knew she deserved better. I know the girl who I met in the forest and the girl who almost took on death for me and the girl I Bonded with. But you know I _don’t_ know?” She framed her hands, indicating Blake, who was watching her sadly. “ _This._ Because I _do_ know you — and this, the way you’ve been acting for the past week — that’s not you.” And then, softer, “ _tell_ me. Please. Tell me what’s wrong so I can help.”

“I trust you,” Blake said, her head bowed. “More than I ever—” She broke off. “God. Probably more than I should. You know that, right?” She turned around with a soft sigh as Yang blinked at her, rummaging for something before she held out a folded piece of paper. “Here.”

“I— what’s this?”

Blake’s hand was shaking slightly, sending the paper into tremors. She looked up at the windows, her gaze faraway. “You know I had a visitor,” she said. “In the infirmary.”

“Uh. Yes…?”

Blake’s jaw hardened. “It was my father’s sister,” she said, and Yang noticed her avoidance of _aunt,_ anything to signify a relationship between the two. “And she gave me… she gave me this.”

“Oh,” Yang said, starting to understand the shadows behind Blake’s eyes. “I didn’t know your family…”

“Was still alive? They’re not. My father and mother… they were— they were murdered by Ayran when I was very young. She’s not family, just a stranger that happens to share my blood.” Blake shook her head at Yang’s muffled exclamation of sorrow. “That’s not the point of what I’m saying. That letter— it’s from my father years and years ago— read it.”  

Yang unfolded it hesitantly, as if it might detonate. Acutely aware of Blake’s eyes on her, Yang skimmed the letter, horror enveloping her nervousness as she read on. _Rule over all of Remnant? So this goes beyond robbery and troublemaking….  oh, hell. This isn’t good._

“Well, _damn,”_ Yang said, folding it up and handing it back to Blake. Her partner snorted.

“That’s an understatement.”

“Blake— I know it looks like we’re hurtling towards hell in a handbasket, but— we’ll help you,” she said, finally. “I thought you knew that. That we would never judge you for wanting to make the world a better place. And that whatever we do, we do it as a _team._ You don’t have to be alone.”

“But you—”

 _Don’t understand,_ Yang thought with a mingled mix of anger and exasperation. She felt as though the words would choke her, but she forced them out anyways. “You think I don’t understand your search for answers?” She spun around, hand clenching on the rim of the chalkboard. “Did I ever tell you about mine and Ruby’s childhood?”

Mutely, Blake shook her head.

“People think so often that kindness and happiness equals softness,” Yang said. “You used to think that. That I was just another stupid, optimistic initiate who had no idea of life’s harsher aspects.” She turned around and fixed Blake with a firm gaze. “Didn’t you?”

Blake bit her lip. “The thought may have been there once upon a time,” she admitted. “But—“  

“But nothing. You’re gonna hear me out.” She turned, rolling the nub of chalk between her fingers, the etched symbol of Raven— the one on Qrow’s flask— dancing in her mind. “Ruby and I grew up in Patch. It’s a small island off the coast of Vale— only a few Hunting families ever live there; it’s one of the few places that’s devoid of Grimm. And we lived with our dad and,” Yang swallowed, “our mom. Her name was Summer Rose.” The memories came, painful and soothing all at once: she _missed_ Summer Rose, missed the way she had been there when Raven hadn’t; she had taken Yang under her wing, even though she wasn’t her child. And that was a debt she could never repay.

“She was the textbook definition of _mom._ Baker of cookies, badass at times, and could beat us all out in Conquerers of Remnant without batting an eye. She and Taiyang were great parents— Bonded, from the same team; they knew each other well and they were the perfect example of lasting love. It was always something I could look up to, this pinnacle of security and family. And for the first two years it was three of us— until Ruby came along. She was the perfect baby sister and six years passed. We grew up, got into shenanigans, got out of them, and Ruby and I both began to realize that we wanted to be just like our parents: Huntresses. So we trained, and it was then that we began to understand the dangers of Remnant, the ongoing struggle between dark and light and gray. And then Summer Rose was called out on a mission.

“I don’t know what happened that day. I don’t know why she didn’t come back and I don’t think I’ll ever know. Maybe there were just too many of them; maybe she was too determined to play the hero. But she was killed.” Yang’s eyes burned as if from sand or salt spray, and Blake’s eyes widened. “Our uncle Qrow came back and told us. But I knew because I saw Dad’s Bond break. I think the pain of it, like you told me…  it almost killed him. And I think a part of him _did_ die, that day. He was never the same…”

“Yang, I—”

“It was then that he shut down, started drinking and mumbling in his sleep, and became neglectful,” Yang said softly. “But Summer Rose wasn’t the first love he lost. She was— she was the second. The first—” Yang’s hands curled into fists at her sides. “The first was my mom.”

A pulse of electric shock flashed through the Bond, from Blake. “Your—   _mom?_ Ruby— Ruby is your half-sister?”

Yang tasted bitterness on the back of her throat. “Yeah. Yeah, she is.” A dark laugh found its way from some cold place within her. “Doesn’t matter, anyways. We both lost two parents, in a way. And she had no one after Summer Rose died, because after she was killed, Dad told me I wasn’t Summer’s kid, went off the deep end, and was out for the count. I was consumed with a maddening desire to find my mom and why she abandoned me just after I was born. I should have been there for Ruby, and I _wasn’t_. I was selfish. I heard her mourning sometimes, you know, crying through the walls at night, whimpering for her mom in her sleep— but I couldn’t do anything, so buried in my own emotions, because hell, sometimes it was just too much and I forgot to _look_. She knew love for her mom, but I didn’t. I was so consumed with my own wants that I left her when she needed me the most.” Yang looked down, forcibly willing herself not to cry, a lump in her throat. “It’s all my fault. Both of us act so happy that you’d never know what happened years ago. God, I— I just wish things could have been different. I wish that my own need for answers hadn’t blinded me to the people I cared about that were suffering around me. And that my obsession hadn’t driven my life.”  

She heard Blake’s sharp intake of breath, and Yang’s hands knotted in on each other. So she _had_ gotten the message. “But— your mother. I don’t…  why did she leave you?”

Yang shivered. “That question. _Why._ I didn’t know an answer; Taiyang refused to talk about her. So did Qrow. It drove me up a wall. So I grew determined to find out; it was all I could think about. I would ask anyone— an old classmate, a former friend, alumni from Beacon— what they knew about her, if they had any idea why she had done what she did. And then one day… I found something. What I thought was a clue that could lead me to answers, like the clues you’re searching for, or maybe even my mother herself.”

Blake made a soft noise, but Yang went on. “I waited for Dad to leave the house, put Ruby in a wagon, and headed out. I must've walked for hours. I had cuts and bruises, I was totally exhausted, but I wasn't gonna let anything stop me, no matter what debt I might owe, whatever heaven or hell could make me pay. I was so— _consumed_ by it. When we finally got there, I could barely stand, but I didn't care. I had made it.” Her voice shivered with self-loathing. “And then I saw _them_ — Beowolves, at least a dozen, glaring at us with those burning red eyes…” She closed her eyes, a scene painted on the back of her eyelids—

_She’s nine again and Ruby is only a few days shy of turning seven. Her baby sister, her ward, is asleep, finally exhausted after one of her bad days. Those are the worst, when Dad leaves the house and doesn’t come back for hours— and when he does, he is in a liquored stupor, his eyes bloodshot and his voice always moaning, moaning for Summer Rose. Or sometimes Raven. Ruby cries and cries but Yang has learned she cannot do anything about it: she can’t heal this wound, cannot bring Summer back._

_He’s gone, presumably to a bar, and Yang piles Ruby, who is knocked out with sleep, into a rickety red wagon. She covers her sister with a hood and a blanket that Summer Rose knitted once. Her foster mother’s scent of soft wildflowers and pine trees is already fading from the worn cloth; Yang fears for the moment she will have to let go completely._

_It’s cold outside, a brisk autumn chill saturating the air. Yang takes to the trees, the faint scent of the salty sea mingling with the wild cries of wolves from far away. She feels so, so alone. The paper shakes in her numbing fingers: a picture of team STRQ, an address hastily scribbled on the dog-eared back. She pulls the wagon along with ease, Ruby’s soft whimpering cries in her sleep make Yang choke with sadness. Nightmares, predictably. Her training will aid her here._

_She trudges through what must be ages of a dying forest, through streams and fallen logs and curious animals, through whistling wind and the patter of rain. And still, the wagon bumps along, Ruby tossing in a fitful sleep. Yang’s eyes remain deadlocked ahead of her. This is one mission in which she cannot fail._

_She finally— finally— arrives in a shadowy clearing. There’s a dilapidated, broken down building in the clearing, with peeling paint and gaping, shattered windows. Fear coils around her spine, cold, but she will not back down._

_And then the eyes glare out from the darkness. Yang’s fear rises up and blocks off her throat as a horde of Grimm pour from the broken doors, galloping towards her with hungry, excited yelps._

_And then, intercepting her and death for the first time in her life, a flash of silver descends from the trees with a shout of anger, and blood spatters the sky._

Yang shuddered, coming back to the present. “There we were. A toddler sleeping in the back of a wagon and a stupid girl too exhausted to even cry for help. We might as well have been served on a silver platter… but, as luck would have it… Qrow showed up just in time _.”_ She bent her head, heart aching. “My stubbornness almost killed me and my sister that night. My own unwillingness to listen— or understand.”

Yang heard Blake’s softly padding footsteps, but she was shaking, her knuckles white as she gripped the ledge of the chalkboard. _Raven. I just told her about Raven._

“Yang,” Blake said at last, before her hand pressed softly against her shoulder. “Yang, I’m sorry. I understand and I’m sorry.”  

“That search for answers _did_ consume me once,” Yang said, voice breaking, “just as it has consumed you. But seeing the people I loved suffering as a consequence of my own actions— that woke me up. And I think that surely— _surely—_ you can do the same.”

Blake withdrew her hand and her chin came down, resting upon Yang’s shoulder. A feeling of warmth, like sitting in front of a roasting hearth on a bitterly cold day, went through their Bond, and Yang leaned back into her touch, knowing Blake couldn’t see the smile on her face as her eyes closed. “I think so too,” she said quietly, a hint of amusement coloring her voice back to life for the first time in days, and it was that which convinced Yang that Blake was back to normal once more, “but as much as the idea of crafting a master plan to rectify all these wrongs is enticing, I’m going to need some rest first.”

“And after that,” Yang said, her heart thumping in her chest, “I don’t know if you’d forgotten, but— we’re kind of, you know, planning a dance.”

“The one that you all kept pestering me to attend. Yes, I remember.”

Yang slipped out of her grip and trotted up the stone steps. Blake watched her go, her face raptured in the failing light.

“I’ll be waiting if you make it out tomorrow,” Yang told her, grinning, “and I’ll be sure to save you a dance.”

As she turned and left the room, so light she almost felt like she could fly, a shared warmth flickered through the Bond, steady as a flame, warming her always from the cold outside.

 

* * *

 

“Ruby, for the love of all things holy, _hold still.”_

Ruby squirmed, glaring as Yang brushed a wing of eyeliner on her left eye, finishing them both off. “There, perfect.”

“I don’t like this,” Ruby complained, sliding from her seat and giving a longing glance to where Crescent Rose lay dormant against the wall. “I wish I could wear my hood. I hate feeling like a dressed-up frilly girly girl.”

“That _girly girl_ is all of us, thank you,” Yang said, drawing a brush through her hair with a precision known to many nights of swiftly readying herself to go out on quick notice. “Besides, this is, like, the one night we can actually relax without being attacked by evildoers, or forging plans to wreck the baddies’ plots, or worrying over one of our teammates running herself into the ground. You should be happy.”

“That’s right! Did you manage to talk sense into Blake?”

Yang’s chest rose and fell quickly. “I told her about how I almost got us killed when we were kids and made some analogies to her current situation. It seemed to knock some sense into her.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed, glinting gray. Yang knew she had never liked mentions of Raven, of the figure shrouded in mystery who had abandoned Yang when she was less than a day old— of anything to hint that they were anything less than family. “At least she’s okay now.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now we can all enjoy the dance in peace.”

“Speaking of which,” Ruby continued, tousling her just-done hair as Yang scowled at her, “you never told me who you were going with.”

Yang smiled absently, fluffing her hair over her shoulder. _I’ll be sure to save you a dance._ “Someone special.”

“Weiss is all sad because of Neptune,” Ruby said, a scowl in her voice. “I don’t understand what she sees him, sometimes— I like all of team SSSN, but I mean— they’re so different. He’s easygoing and disorderly sometimes, really laid-back, and Weiss is— you know.”

“Perhaps it’s _because_ he’s disorderly? Maybe she wants something that really challenges her childhood. Maybe it’s a statement. I don’t think she really likes _him—_ just what he represents, you know?”

Ruby nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on her face. “Yeah, I can see that.” A grin uncurled across her face. “Enough about Weiss, sis— what’s going on in _your_ department with partners? I heard about your Bond, that’s some pretty big stuff…”

Yang busied herself with leaning forward to apply her own makeup, noting with a frown that she was flushing, staunchly refusing to turn around and meet Ruby’s sparkling look of amusement. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please. You’re more transparent than Professor Port’s lies on his heroic exploits! Spill it.” She bounced on the bed, making it creak. “We all know that—”

“No. Nero. Nada. Zilch. Zip. That means _no,_ Rubes.”

Ruby sprang off the bed and headed towards the door with a _humph_ of disapproval. “Sure, sure. I promised to meet Jaune and Nora by the front doors— good thing for you, so you can go greet whoever this oh-so-mysterious date of yours is without me tagging along.”

Yang stuck her tongue out at her sister. “Get outta here, Riding Hood.” She grinned at herself in the mirror as the door shut, with Ruby grumbling about how she was being third-wheeled, and reached around, grabbing her dress.

_Time to solo this thing._

The night was pleasant outside, not cold and not muggy, either. The stars glimmered down, and the moon was full, the broken shards glinting like sharks’ teeth. Silver lay like a gild over everything, and Yang felt a buoying happiness bubble up inside of her. Despite the turbulence of life, some things could never be undermined.

She heard the laughter emitting from the ballroom long before she saw it, and when she finally came into view of the propped doors and spilling light, she paused, readying herself.

But there was already a figure standing in the shadows, her eyes glowing brighter as Yang rounded the corner.

Yang could see Blake, leaned up against a plinth, standing in the thick shadows that pooled about the pillars of the school. She was at the corner of the dais, and she was staring up, through the edifices and battlements of the walls, at the constellations that webbed and laced out across the sky in silver fissures. Her head raised as Yang mounted the last stair, dress tickling her legs in the wind, her golden eyes sparking in surprise. Her hair swirled to the side in the breaths of wind ghosting across the courtyard. Yang felt something like a spark of fire shoot through their Bond.

She was dressed sleekly, in a diaphanous dress that was adjacent to a shadow, and the dark dress fluttered around her knees and curved in slits on the sides, showing bare skin. For the first time since Yang had met her, she seemed to be lacking any weapons; she had forgone the dark bracelets that laddered her forearms, and donned a simple dark coil on her wrists. Her hair, curling close to the back of her neck, was brushed down over her shoulders in a tumbling, crimped black waterfall, glimmering and shining in a helix of tresses. Her skin was all pallor and shadow, but the bruises and restlessness were gone. Light seemed to shimmer out from beneath her skin, picking out the hollows of her temples, and the curve of her collarbones. Her eyes were the same jarring amber-gold, flecked with light, but they seemed more iridescent now, like they jumped with the edge of flame. And they were full of life, not sunken and dead like they had been a night before. She was _beautiful_ , Yang thought, absolutely breathtaking, an effigy like a statue, all sharp planes and angles, accented with demure colors of gold and black and white. She looked just like the drawings she had always sketched up. She looked more distant than the farthest stars.

And despite it, despite the paradoxes of it all, Yang knew she was falling, falling hard for her. How curious to fall, and feel no fear.

“You came! I was— I dunno, I guess I thought maybe you might not show up.”  

Blake’s lips curved in the faintest of smiles, curling up higher at one side— her genuine, lopsided smile, Yang noted with relief, even though it seemed darkened by something. “ _You_ asked me to come,” she said simply, quietly. “Of course I would be here.” She was leaning against the pillar, and her eyes returned to the stars; Yang saw that they were reflected, burning, in her pupils. Just as Yang was about to say something to shatter the fragile silence— it was more than that, she was afraid to break it— Blake turned and spun towards her, proffering her arm. She seemed less burning with a kinetic energy now— seemed more grounded, like a camera lens finally focusing properly, her remoteness gone.

“Shall we go?”

Yang felt her smile return, beaming across her face, and she flicked her hair over her shoulder, slipping her arm to interlock with Blake’s. A jolt of electric energy washed over her as they touched. “We shall.”

 

* * *

 

Within the interior of the hall, the rafters were lost to shadow. A gilded overlay of glimmering lights seemed to sheen over everything within the dance. Close-curling ribbons ruffled the pillars along the hall, and flourishing bouquets of balloons festooned the walls. Laughter and the light, harmonious cadences of music twined in the hall; her happiness returned, and Blake was happy, too, a current of warmth in the Bond; it was like holding her hands over a comforting flame, whenever the cold of night threatened.  

“Where’s Sun?” Yang wondered aloud, her eyes passing over the crowd.

Blake grinned. “I think he said something about soloing the dance.” She ducked her head and whispered in Yang’s ear, “Truthfully, he asked me to go with him, but I had to decline. Something about my dances already being spoken for.”

“Touching,” Yang said.

“It really is, at that.”

Blake grinned at her. And then there was that feeling again, of rain falling on a summer’s day, of the first snowfall, of a fire in a hearth; warmth and safety and dizzying. Yang’s heart skipped a beat in her chest as the music slipped into a slower, smoother tone, promising safety and security and love, and Yang held out her hand to Blake. “Blake Belladonna, may I have this dance?”  

In answer, Blake took her hand, her agreement almost lost in the chatter all around them. Music soared through the room, and they danced. They danced to the song of the stars shining overhead.

They danced as if it was the last time they would be happy again. 


	18. Chapter XVII - This Guilty Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. It’s here.   
> If you have been reading all along and not reviewing, this would be the chapter to review on. I'm really looking forward to reading them.   
> And as always, I hope you enjoy.

Taiyang had once compared heartbreak to the moment before a stone fell into still waters. First, there was the pause of the detonation above all that was tranquil; the disbelief, the unknowing. Then there was the crash; the event itself, the great upheaval of all you thought you knew was solid, pulled out under your feet. After that came the ripple effects, because _hell_ —sometimes life was blinding and you didn’t know how lucky you were until you lost it all.

And then… silence. A silence as you sank to the bottom of the water, leaving behind nothing but whispering waves to mark your grave. 

If that was so, then love must be when you took a breath after eternity of drowning; it must be heaven. And Yang was breathing in light, in love, in the beauty of all that was the world. As it went, becoming Blake’s friend was a choice. Becoming her partner was the hand of Fate. But falling in love with her was out of her control.

She looked up. Weiss and Ruby were tag-teaming to help her clean up the ballroom, along with Pyrrha and Jaune. There was a new spark between the latter, and Yang concealed a grin; it looked like Pyrrha had taken her advice and done something larger than vague hints.

“Hey, Ruby. Watch this.”

Yang ducked as a balloon shot past her head, missing her by inches, squealing loudly as it deflated itself with a whine. Jaune was laughing and Pyrrha was hiding a smile.

“Amusing, potato-child— just as amusing as _this—_ ” Yang picked up a rubber band and stretched it, letting it fly. Jaune ducked out of the way and it hit Weiss straight in the forehead, ricocheting off and flying into the shadows. Yang gasped and Ruby squeaked as Weiss’s eyes blazed. 

“ _Yang!”_

“Sorry, Weiss-queen,” she grinned, sweeping ribbons into a trash bag.

“Hey, where’s Blake?” Ruby asked, balancing on the tips of her toes to snatch a curl of ribbons from the pillars. “Didn’t she promise to help us clean up?”

“Let’s be real, Rubes— she’s probably in the library as we speak. Books call more to her than the promise of oh-so-fun cleaning.”

“Ah, oh well,” she said, “it was worth a shot. You sound disappointed about that.” Ruby slid down from the pillar and darted her eyes around before jerking her head to Weiss and Yang, lowering her voice so Jaune and Pyrrha wouldn't hear her. “I need to talk to you guys.”

Yang's brow furrowed at the grim look in her eyes. “Now?”

“Right now. It's important, I swear.”

Yang swept her bag aside and joined Ruby outside the hall, Weiss following after her. “What’s up, Ruby?”

Yang furrowed her brows as Ruby cast an uncharacteristically grave look outside before she squared her shoulders. “It's about last night. The dance. Some... stuff happened, and I didn't get to tell you about it because I didn't wanna worry either of you, and it was our night to just relax, but— I have to tell you Ozpin’s gonna want to talk about it because General Ironwood saw what happened—”

Yang held up her hands. "Ruby. If the headmaster wants to talk to you, then it means something really _did_ happen, so you need to start from the beginning."   
  
"Right, right," Ruby said, looking at her feet. "It was about twenty minutes to midnight, and I was kinda tired and I wanted fresh air because the hall was really crowded. So when the three of you weren't watching, I, er, snuck out the double doors. And once I was outside, I saw— this person. A dark figure dressed in black, jumping from rooftop to rooftop— and it wasn’t some wayward student pulling a prank. It was an woman - a Huntress, I'm sure of it. And she looked - well, I don't know how to describe it, but she _looked_ dangerous, like she was up to something bad. So I, uh, I kinda went after her.” She glanced sheepishly at Yang, who waved her on.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less of you. It's our job to do that anyways. Go on.”

“I called Crescent Rose from the rocket-lockers, and continued on to the CCT. I saw a guard lying in the bushes— unconscious, not dead, I hoped— so I went inside the CCT and saw more guards knocked out. There were signs of a struggle. I went to the top of the tower. It looked empty at first, but then a figure rose up behind a desk, and she was masked and all dark. It was the woman I saw on the rooftops. And she attacked. She fought differently than anyone I’ve ever encountered. She had two glass swords and she moved with fire and these sweeping sparks - I swear, her clothing _lit_ when she moved, like fire. She wasn't trying to fight me, either, at least not her hardest. I— she would’ve beat me, if General Ironwood hadn’t showed up. But when he did, she— vanished. I don’t know where she went but when I turned back around she was gone - and there was just a smoking crater in the floor where she had vanished, like the air just swallowed her whole.”

Yang’s eyes widened. “This woman. Why - the CCT isn't really a place I'd pick out to be performing crime at, especially so late at night. Do you think she could be linked to Torchwick and the White Fang? They've been doing weird stuff, too...”

“There’s many people with ill intent these days,” Weiss said grimly, her eyes dark, and then:

“Anything is possible.”

 

* * *

 

 

After they had pondered over the dwindling possibilities for hours, Weiss and Ruby had gone off to search up more information on White Fang dealings and recent infractions of the law in Vale, leaving Yang alone with her thoughts. She didn’t go searching for Blake, however. She turned and headed for her favorite place— the balconies that lined the upper, and mostly vacant towers of Beacon.

Night had fallen by the time she reached the balcony. There was a feeling in her stomach, of mixed trepidation and a sense that something was about to happen. 

Perhaps it was only her. She gently shut the door behind her, heading to the edge of the balcony. Below, she could see the gentle movement of the water, tugging to and fro in the breeze that breathed through the night. 

_For where there is darkness, there, too, is light. Despair cannot exist without hope. Night cannot be true without day._

She folded her arms and let out a shuddering breath. Yang heard the door click open, swinging and creaking ajar on its hinges, and the soft, feathery tread— one she’d recognize anywhere, clicked against the stone floor. “I thought I might find you up here,” Blake’s voice rang out in the stillness, and Yang closed her eyes, bowing her head and pressing her fingers against the cold surface of the balcony. 

_‘Is it even so? Then I defy you, stars!’_

It had always been one of her favorite quotes, the idea of defiance of Fate itself. Fate— a thing that had marked out where she would go, a thing she could never escape, no matter what choices she made.

Of course, the whole ‘tragedy’ of Romeo and Juliet had always been laughable to her, because of the age gap, the fact that if Friar Lawrence had moved faster everything would have been fine, and the fact that it had all happened so fast. But it was the core _idea_ of the whole thing, of love that could move mountains, love that could shake the forests, love that would sacrifice everything. 

But even so: would she do that for Blake, sacrifice so much? 

She looked at her partner, who was watching her. Her eyes were like the light of the sun as it sank into the sea, and Yang felt her chest give a painful constriction. She would, of course she would, she would do anything to keep her safe and close and loved. She loved Blake as deeply as the sea and as strongly as the oaks, to the stars, to the moon itself. Perhaps there was such a thing as soulmates, perhaps not, but either way, Yang had a feeling that every person was on their own in discovering their other half. Perhaps you forged the opposite side of you in your mind and met the person one day. 

“What are you thinking about?” Blake came to the facade of the balcony beside her, a bar of moonlight striping silver across her face. The ground plunged away below them dizzyingly, the other lit towers of Beacon spiring into the air with soaring heights. The furthermost tower glowed with an emerald, rippling light, and Yang focused her eyes on it, took a breath, and steadied herself. 

“Just— _you_ ,” Yang said, before flushing and gesturing to her partner, her blood thundering in her veins at her proximity. “You’ve been through so much, Blake, and I— well.” She rocked back on her heels, hands finding the windowsill again. “It’s admirable.” 

“ _‘It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves,’_ ” Blake quoted, mirroring Yang’s earlier thought. “It’s not me. Not really. I did only what I had to do, just like you.” Blake’s hand found Yang’s on the gritty stone sill, their fingers lacing together, almost absently, as the trees rustled musically in the night wind. “You know as much strength as I do, even more. They say that there are the realists and the dreamers and they need each other: the realist keeps the dreamer from flying away, and the dreamer helps the realist to soar.”

“And what are you?” Yang asked, every nerve pricking as Blake’s thumb passed over the back of her hand, tracing slow circles into her skin. 

“I think I’m the dreamer of us two,” Blake replied, her eyes bright and reflecting the clarity of the frosted stars above their heads. “Because you keep me grounded. You always pull me back from the shadows like light. I don’t know how, but you do. Even when I’ve run, even when I’m scared, you always manage to bring me back to the world— back to you.” 

Yang leaned her head against Blake’s shoulder as they both looked at the starry map vaulting far, far above their heads. Maybe there was a middle ground somewhere; Yang knew fires always burned brighter because of darkness. It was hard to keep her thoughts in such a poetic line, though, when Blake was leaning into her, too, her thumb passing little patterns and taps over Yang’s skin. She thought it was Morse code, the way Blake was drumming her fingers idly against her palm, but she couldn’t read it. 

“Do you ever think about her?” Blake asked suddenly. 

“About who?”

“Your mother,” was Blake’s quiet reply. 

“Which one? Raven, or Summer Rose?” Yang said, straightening and passing her gaze over the distant courtyards. The constellations were clear tonight, mapping out in silver pinpricks of light in a velvety dark sky. Plumes of frosty smoke rose curled in misty tendrils off of the fountains. “I know… I _know_ Summer Rose is still watching Ruby and me, somehow. There was always one place she fought like hell to get to and stay there, and that was by us. Wherever we go after life… she’ll be there. Watching. Waiting. Guiding.” Yang twisted around to look at Blake, and thought, _if there is a life after this one, I will love you there._ “I don’t think much about Raven anymore,” she admitted, and it was true. “I’ve learned that the ones who fight to keep in their lives are the ones who love you the most, and I don’t know— I guess she didn’t want me enough to keep me, but making peace with that is the most I can ever do. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wondering. Searching for her. Asking myself _why_ she did what she did. But,” Yang blew out a breath between her teeth. “I’ve learned to let go. No person can truly say they know every secret about themselves, and aren’t some secrets better left alone?” 

“If they love you, they _will_ strive to stay by your side,” Blake insisted, before her eyes shifted, flickering downward. “I would _fight_ to keep you.” 

Yang blinked, looked at her. “You… would?” She said, feeling warm inside, as if someone had slipped a burning ember right into her heart and spread the comforting glow to her veins. This wasn’t the awful scorching fire she lived with, sleeping in her blood like a snake poised to strike: this was the gentle heat emanating from a bed of ashes, and it felt beautiful. 

“Of course. You fight for me. I fight for you. Ever since I’ve met you, you’ve been by my side,” Blake said, as if was as simple as that, and maybe it was. “The cities. The forest. The fight against Torchwick and the Paladin—” 

“But you almost got killed for me!” 

“I wouldn’t have changed a thing,” Blake said, her eyes and voice steady and strong as she looked directly at Yang. “Not a thing. You are the one point of steadiness in a violent sea. The unswerving needle in this great, never ending compass of a world. When I came to Beacon, I never planned on this— having a family again. But it’s better than I could have ever hoped, Yang.” 

Yang couldn’t bear to be this close to her— so close she could see the Cupid’s bow of her lips, see the flutter of her pulse in the porcelain curve of her throat— and yet so impossibly far. She was bathed in a silver moonlit glow, an enveloped spotlight, both of them. _I want to kiss her,_ she thought, almost idly; she had wanted to be something _more_ with Blake for a long, long time. To wake up and see her face, to fall asleep, curved safely beside her, to do all the stupid things that couples did, to be able to hold her and touch her and playfully banter with her, to touch her and not ache at all the times she could have her the way she wanted.

“ _Je te veux,_ _je vous aime,_ _”_ she murmured to herself quietly, breath smoking in the chill, and Blake’s eyes found hers again. _Golden lights, amber skylines lined in darkness._ There was an entire universe in Blake’s eyes, those old eyes set in a young face. 

“What?”

“French. It’s nothing,” she said, and then she was aware of how close they were. _Really_ close, if not closer than they had been at the dance. Blake’s elbow rested on the stone rim, touching hers, and Yang’s head was leaned against Blake’s. Blake was still watching her a little strangely, and Yang wondered with a brief spurt of panic if she knew French, knew what Yang had said. Blake read all those books, _surely…?_

_“_ Do you ever wonder why I chose you in the forest?” Blake said softly. 

Yang looked down. Some part of her wanted Blake to know, to end this charade. It had been so long. Friends, Bonded, and now… this. She looked at Blake, who was watching expectantly, waiting for her to speak. 

Yang cleared her throat nervously. “Because— well, I was the only one, wasn’t I? The only one left. You just act so different around me. So much more… real, I guess. And I know the things you do—” 

Blake regarded her with glittering gold eyes, like deposits of mica. They were alive with light, sad and measured. “Stop, Yang. The things I do for you— well, why do you think I do them?” 

“I’m your partner. I— ” 

Blake turned her face away. “I used to have a partner, and I didn’t do half the things for him I would be willing to do for you. Sometimes it takes me by surprise how different you are from Adam.”

“I hope that’s not factoring the obvious despotic personality in. I was really trying to hide it.” She frowned as the joke fell short, Blake’s eyes still cast down. “Blake…” 

Blake pulled her arms in. “I don't know who I am,” she said. “I look at myself in the mirror and I see Brian Belladonna, but I act like a Huntress and talk like a member of the White Fang—like Adam. So I see who I am in your eyes, and I try to be that person, because you have faith in that person and I think faith might be enough to make me what you want.” 

Yang’s heart went out to her partner. “You’re already perfect the way you are.” 

Blake looked at her hands. “The blood in my veins is _not_ perfect,” she said quietly. “This guilty blood, of a Faunus turned traitor.” 

Yang was quiet. What could she have said, anyways? 

Blake didn’t reply for a moment before looking back at Yang. “What about you, my partner? What lies under that armor of yours?” 

Yang’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sure if you pried hard enough into that nifty Bond, you could find out.” _Sorrow, worry, and all my love for you._

A surge of emotion crashed through the Bond like thunder. Yang looked over at Blake in surprise. She was staring at her hands as if they held the secrets of the universe, before she turned towards Yang, their faces only inches apart. 

“I don’t know what it is,” she said. “Sometimes you’re unreachable. But sometimes I think I might know you.”

“What do you _want_ , Blake?” Yang whispered, breath catching. She could see a small white scar on the bridge of Blake’s nose, could see the light halo of sunbleached freckles that danced across her face. In that single moment, a single image flashed before her eyes: Blake smiling down at her for the first time, close-lipped and amused, her eyes two coals of sun.

And she knew what Blake had meant when memories blurred when you loved someone, the way you remembered only what you felt, and not the details of the scene. But she remembered the moment this whole thing had been set into motion with startling, breathtaking clarity, the moment she had met Blake and her whole life had been changed in ways she hadn’t even known yet. That the only person who had caught up to her and trusted her and given her all to her— that was Blake. The one who had loved her, despite her flaws and errs and wrongs.

The love she had always missed in her own blindness.

_Je vous aime._

“Since the day we’ve met I’ve only ever wanted to be with you,” Blake whispered in the space between them, before their lips brushed, a butterfly of a touch that sent a jolt as powerful as lightning thundering through her bones. Yang leaned forward to meet her halfway and they were kissing and they were kissing and _Blake was kissing her,_ kissing her deeply and fiercely, as if she would drown, die if she didn’t.

The kiss was the wind singing its untamed song in her veins. It was the sheer spinning dizziness of untethered life within her blood. It was the fine cool clearness of starlight on the water. It was the sparks of an unfettered fire catching along her bones and igniting a blazing inferno in her chest.

The kiss was everything. 

Yang didn’t know if she was kissing Blake or if Blake was kissing her; but she decided it didn’t matter. She pulled her closer, hands resting on her waist. Blake’s hands tangled in her hair. She tilted her head to the side, fitting their lips together as Blake held her close. The pounding of her heart through her shirt made her dizzy with joy. No one else’s heart beat like Blake’s, or ever could.

She broke away first, heart leaping in great bounds against her chest, breathing as if she’d just finished a long, long race and broken through the ribbon, first, at the end of the finish line. Her tongue darted across her lips, incredulity in her heart. She could taste Blake there, a cool sharpness that was like starlight, like the moon dazzling across nighttime snow, like freedom and soaring lights. 

They broke apart, staring at each other in surprise for a moment, before Blake— impossibly, beautifully, _wonderfully—_ smiled at her. “Your heart is beating so fast,” she said, her hand resting on Yang’s sternum.

I know.”Yang admitted, wondering if she were dreaming, but the look on Blake’s face was more real to her than anything she had ever known. “I may have wanted to do that for a while.” 

Blake’s hand slid through her hair, curling around the back of her neck. “Then do it,” she whispered, fingers lacing around her neck. “Kiss me.”

She kissed her softly, barely a whisper of their lips together this time, but it was still enough to send jolts like lightning through her blood.

“I think I might be in love with you, Yang Xiao Long,” Blake said softly, and Yang was unable to keep the grin off of her face as she pulled her close, their foreheads resting together, separated by nothing by the rays of moonlight, beautiful now in a world that suddenly seemed full of color and possibility and love. 

_Stay near to the light._

“I think I _know_ I’m in love with you,” Yang whispered, “but I’m waiting for you to kiss me again to be totally sure. It’s… it’s basic security. You know?” 

“I shouldn’t find you endearing. But yet, here I am,” Blake said, and she was grinning. It lit up her face. She was beautiful. “Perhaps that’s why you mean so much. I never thought… I never thought someone could make me feel this way again.” 

She kissed her, soft and slow this time, sparks flaring up into a fire. It deepened as Yang tilted her head and Blake’s hands slid into her hair, curling around the nape of her neck; breathless, weightless. 

Eventually, they had to break apart. Yang took a deep breath, trying to calm the race of her heart. 

Blake finally swallowed nervously, one hand coming up and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She took a shaky breath as a smile bloomed on her face, a nervous laugh bubbling up as she met Yang’s eyes. “Is there a formal way to do this, or…?” 

Yang grinned innocently. “Do what?” 

A huff. “ _Yang.”_

“ _Blake._ ” 

Another bubble of laughter. It was great sound, Yang decided— like audible gold. Blake took a deep breath of determination, eyes fixing on her face, those amber eyes like lights. It was like waking up from ages of darkness to the sun. “Asking you to be my— my girlfriend.” 

In answer, Yang reached up and pressed her lips to hers. Blake murmured softly against her mouth as she kissed her back. If their first kiss had been a fire flaring, then this was like a star going into a supernova: she gripped the front of Blake’s shirt, gasping, before pulling away and cupping Blake’s face with an almost dreamlike intensity, before a startling thought occurred to her. “Blake… am I dreaming?” 

“No,” Blake said. “No, you’re not.” She bent down to kiss her again, her forehead leaning against Yang’s, and whispered, “I’ve never been more awake.” 

“Do you think,” she batted Blake’s hands away as they drifted up her torso, laughing at the injured look on her partner’s— no, scratch that— her _girlfriend’s_ face, as she did so. The thought sent an insane thrill racing through her, like a warmth she carried inside her chest. She _was_ her girlfriend. The thought alone made her smile. “Hold on. Do you think we should tell the team? Or anyone?” 

Blake’s eyes flicked over her face, considering her. “Do _you_ want to wait?” 

“No,” Yang said, wholeheartedly; she was grinning, a grin that stretched broadly across her face and made her warm inside, extinguishing the chill of the world outside, and she relinquished the iron grip of constraint in her chest, reaching forward to trace the lines of Blake’s face, pressing her hand against her cheek. Blake leaned into her touch, eyes closing before she smiled, a smile as bright and beautiful as the stars above. “I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Blake said. “But that doesn’t matter. I would have waited forever to know you again like this.” 

It was with Blake’s hand entwined with hers, a feeling like sparks flowing between them, that she pulled her back into the hall: into warmth, into love, into light. 

**AN / For those curious as to what Blake was tapping on Yang’s hand, it was ‘ _yet is is only love which sets us free_ ’, Maya Angelou.  
  
So. How about that angst for you, eh?  **


	19. Chapter XVIII - Summer's End

_She’s two again and her world is composed of bright skies and colors and music, an electric whirlwind of hope and possibility; concepts like_ heartbreak _and_ loss _and_ darkness _are beyond her smaller mind._

 _“Daddy,_ when _—”_

_Taiyang swings her up in his strong arms, laughing; she squeals in protest as he tickles her stomach. To her he has always seemed like a larger-than-life figure, one whom can protect her from everything, just like a hero in the books. “Not much longer, Yang. I promise.”_

_“I hope it’s a girl,” she chatters happily for the umpteenth time, “I would_ hate _a gross little brother, he’d have cooties, ugh—”_

_Tai’s eyes cloud, lilac blue darkening to sapphire. “My little sun-dragon… you will be your brother’s or sister’s keeper, whichever it is.” His face becomes solemn, though she cannot grasp why. “The world isn’t completely safe, doll. Outside of Patch, there’s a whole lot of darkness. I know it’s in your future to help suppress it. I’m counting on you, Yang. You’re my daughter and you’re a fighter, you know that?”_

_“Of course, daddy,” she giggles, kicking to get out of his grip. “I’m gonna be a warrior. Like you!”_

_Summer Rose emerges from the doorway then, her mother— Yang’s grandmother— hovering behind her. Her face is flushed, tousled hair a halo of messy curls around her heart-shaped face. She’s cradling a swathed bundle— a bundle that lets out a thin, wailing cry. Yang’s breath catches in anticipation and excitement._

_“Done,” she says softly, her face and voice radiant. Taiyang sets Yang down gently before hurrying over, his eyes bright._

_“She delivered safely,” Yang’s grandmother croaks, her eyes suffused with pride and joy. “You have a beautiful baby girl, Taiyang.”_

_Summer, for whom Yang will think of her as_ mother _until years later, when she learns a secret that the past was not strong enough to shield, blinks down at her newborn daughter with a love more profound than any. “We’ll call her Ruby,” she says. “The brightest color of them all. She will be strong and beautiful and unique like the gem, and a fighter like us.”_

_“Ruby,” Yang whispers, trying the name out for the first time. She scrambles up Taiyang’s arm, strong as a mighty oak, and looks down, at the screwed up little face, the tuft of dark hair on her head, and her heart swells with love and she swears then and there that she will always, always be there to protect her baby sister. “Ruby Rose. Welcome to the world, sister.”_

 

* * *

 

_“Can’t catch me!”_

_Yang backflips end over end, deflecting her father’s swinging blow and darting in to pummel him in the stomach. They grapple for a moment, fists flashing against each other, before she musters all her strength and strikes his gut. He doubles over, coughing, and she crows in triumph— completely off guard. His eyes gleam with a good-natured challenge and she yelps as he surges back upward like lightning, knocking her over on the soft training mats, one hand pinning her to the floor. His eyes, just like hers, flash with amusement. “Your form is good, little sun-dragon, but you need to watch out to make sure your opponent is defeated. Don’t let arrogance be the thing that finishes you off.”_

_“Dad,” she whines plaintively, wiggling out from his grasp and flexing her battered hands with their worn leather gloves, “when are we gonna find out my semblance? Fighting’s no fun when it’s just… boring.”_

_He raises a brow. “First you want to craft a weapon that’s a gun, but not mobile. Next you’re clamoring to know about Aura. Then you want to know all about Bonding. Now this?” But he’s grinning, and she knows he isn’t upset._

_“Whatever, I’ll figure it out. Uncle Qrow promised to take me out to the kingdom forges to see how weapons are built and maybe craft one of my own,” she chirps happily, rolling her sore shoulders. “I can’t wait to go out there and be a Huntress.”_

_His face grows grave, the scars becoming more pronounced. “It’s not all fun and games, sweetheart. It’s a job to protect your world.”_

_“I know! They’ll be calling me Slayer of Grimm,” she promises. “You just wait. You and Mom will both be bugs compared to my skill!”_

_She trots out of the training room with a laugh, not seeing him turn his face to the ceiling, all his amusement vanishing in an instant as a look like thunderclouds rolls across his expression._

 

* * *

 

 _“Her semblance is_ speed, _Mom? That’s so unfair! She’s always going to cheat in footraces and tag now!”_

_“Yours is fire and the basis of invincibility, Yang. I think you’re both fair, all things considered.” Summer smiles at the both of them, looking up from a book about Remnant, and Ruby sticks her tongue out at Yang. With a good-natured growl, Yang dives at Ruby, and they grapple on the lawn before Ruby flashes away in a flurry of red petals, laughing manically in triumph._

_“Cheater, cheater, pumpkin-eater!”_

_“Haha! You can’t catch me!” Ruby speeds away and Yang follows after her as they disappear from view, ducking into a grove of silver birch trees._

_“Summer, dear…”_

_Summer Rose looks up, her lightheartedness fading as Taiyang sits beside her. Their eyes meet: storm-silver against lilac. “You can’t hide it from her forever, love,” Summer Rose says, a little bit sadly. “Raven…”_

_“Raven was— is—an enigma. It’s not good to have her in Yang’s life.”_

_Summer’s smile is wistful. “She was on our team. I knew Raven once, and she used to be a good person, with a good heart. Fate just deals us poor paths sometimes. She’s not an enigma, Tai. She’s a Maiden. It’s that which you don’t want Yang to know. That this world has so many secrets to hide.”_

_Taiyang opens his mouth to argue, before Ruby and Yang burst into the clearing once more, laughing and yelping. “I just want to keep them safe, Summer. Is that so much to wish for?”_

_Summer sighs sorrowfully. “I do, too. But sometimes it is all we can do to help them grow up. And you know they will both have destinies that are so much larger than we can imagine.”_

_“Yang is the daughter of a Maiden and Ruby has your eyes,” Taiyang says very softly. “Both of them are in peril because of us. Both of them will have difficult futures no matter what. Sometimes, I think that they will never be safe wherever they go.”_

 

* * *

 

_“Mom, do you promise to teach me how to use my semblance when you get back from your mission?” Ruby asks, tugging Summer’s white traveling cloak._

_Summer Rose gently detaches Ruby, ruffling her hair. “Of course, sweetie. You’ll be amazing.”_

_Yang sits on the counter, swinging her legs and fiddling with her very first prototype of her weapon— thin bronze gauntlets, grooved with a single pistol, empty, on the top. “You’re a lame amateur, Rubes,” she says cheerily, “I can already blaze my way through the friggin’ town, bam bam bam…”_

_“Yang,” Summer chastises her, sounding exasperated and genuinely parental for once. “Language.”_

_“Sorry, Mom."_

_Taiyang walks in the room, brushing metallic strands from his eyes, carrying Summer’s traveling bags. He ducks and kisses Summer on the cheek, swinging Ruby up in his arms. “Bye, love. You’ll be great on your mission. Just like the first day of initiation in the Emerald Forest. I believe in you.”_

_“Don’t you doubt it, Tai. I was the best of us all— you and Qrow and— ” Summer breaks off the sentence with a smile that, looking back, seems too wide and forced. “But. Anyways. I’ll be fine.” There’s a flash of something across Taiyang’s face, some faint strain that vanishes as quickly as it comes, and Summer pecks him on the lips before hugging Ruby; with a yelp of protest at being left out of the bear hug, Yang hops off the counter and wiggles in. There’s a moment before Summer Rose pries herself away, shouldering her weapon and smiling at them._

_“I’ll be back in two weeks, tops.”_

 

* * *

_The first week passes with ease, but on the second week’s Wednesday, Taiyang begins to pace anxiously._

_Then, on Sunday, it happens._

_Ruby is playing with Zwei, dangling a raw turkey leg above the counter as Yang watches with amusement; Taiyang looks highly entertained as Zwei barks and leaps in the air, stubby paws pedaling madly as he strains his jaws for the food._

_Then Taiyang lets out a choked little noise, and Yang’s head snaps towards him. His eyes fly wide, dark and stunned, before he lets out a scream and falls to the floor in the fetal position. Ruby drops the turkey with a cry of fright and Yang scrambles down from her chair. “Dad? Dad!”_

_He’s screaming, a strangled, long wail of agony that seems to go on and on, swelling and escalating into the day. He claws at his chest, eyes rolling back in his head, and Yang is choking on fear and panic—_

_then a flare of darkness, sparkling like obsidian, explodes from his chest. It comes together in a plume of black before hovering and shooting upward to the ceiling, where it vanishes._

_Taiyang falls silent, shaking on the floor. Ruby is staring in shock at him before the back door flies open, and someone bursts in. Yang grabs her weapon and points it, shaking, at the person— before she realizes it’s Qrow, his usual passivity wiped clean with a horrible fear._

_“Uncle Qrow— you have to help— he just fell and started screaming, I—”_

_Qrow doesn’t waste a second; he hurries to Taiyang and props him up, checking for any visible injuries before snapping, without even turning his head, “One of you, get me some ice-water. Quick!”_

_Ruby bustles to fill a pitcher and brings it to him, wobbling; Qrow takes it, and without hesitation, dashes it into Taiyang’s face._

_Their father starts spluttering and coughing, his lilac eyes huge. “Qrow— my Bond. It’s— the Bond, I could have sworn—”_

_Qrow’s lined face becomes even wearier. “Brother. She - I’m so sorry.”_

_Taiyang’s eyes are huge, and he’s letting out a long, low groan of misery. “No. No! Not after your sister, please, Qrow— no, she can’t be…. Not twice…”_

_Qrow’s eyes are bright, looking back, Yang will realize that they are tears. “There were too many. Too many for her… too many for anyone, even a warrior like her…. I was too late…”_

_“Uncle Qrow.” Yang is surprised by the sharp clarity of her voice, hard and direct. “What happened? What happened to Dad?”_

_Qrow looks over, his rough throat bobbing in a swallow, his eyes shining. “I’m so sorry,” he says, before words that will forever sear into her mind fall from his mouth like a tree being felled. “Summer Rose was killed.”_  
  


* * *

 

_Years after, Yang will not remember Ruby’s long, low wail of heartrending grief, or her own heart stopping in its tracks, in silence. She won’t remember flying past her sobbing father or yanking open the back door. She won’t remember streaking out of the house, through hills and woods, to the shores of Patch, wishing the sea would swallow her whole so this moment would be over._

_But she will remember the day everything fell apart._

_She’ll remember the light of joy in Ruby’s eyes fading, the way it takes years for it to come back. She’ll remember the day Summer Rose died because that was the day a part of Taiyang died, too. That was the day the family tore itself apart. The house always feels like a mausoleum: a family perished there._

 

* * *

 

 _“Tai. Tai, brother. Listen. You_ must _shake yourself out of this.”_

_Qrow’s rough voice is pleading, and Taiyang’s eyes are still glazed and dead inside. The scythe-wielder’s ruby-colored eyes flicker angrily._

_“Taiyang, how long will your children suffer while you cannot be strong?”_

_Yang’s father raises his head, voice hoarse. “She’s gone, my love, my light…”_

_Qrow’s mouth goes to a hard line and he shakes him roughly. “Wake_ up. _It’s time for the truth about what blood runs in your eldest daughter’s veins.” Qrow’s grizzled face turns toward Yang, and then to Taiyang, his eyes hard and flat as polished river-stones. “It’s time she knew, Tai. You can’t hide it forever, much as you may want to. Yang will find… her… one day. Or she’ll find Yang. Better she hears the truth from you then from someone else.”_

 _Yang feels a sinking feeling in her chest, like she’s hurtling towards a void, an answer tickling at the edge of her mind. “Hide_ what?”

_Taiyang sits down heavily, shaking. He no longer looks larger than life. He looks painfully, painfully human. “Qrow…” His voice is soft and pleading. “Must it be now?”_

_Qrow’s face shifts as if he’s taking a painful hit. “I’m sorry, brother.” He turns and limps out the door, disappearing in a gleam of silver with his broadsword. Yang watches him go, baffled, before turning to her father._

_“Dad…?”_

_He forms a word with shaking lips, his shoulders hunched. “Yang, please, please— go make sure Ruby is asleep.”_

_Too startled, too stricken, to argue, Yang hurries down the hall. Ruby is in her bed, whimpering in her sleep; her eyes are puffy, as if she’d been crying before sleep claimed her. Yang pulls up the covers around her before turning and leaving, closing the door behind her._

_“She’s asleep.”_

_He turns his face, looking as if he’s warring in his own mind, before he looks back at her sadly. “Before I tell you anything, daughter, you must know that I love you. Nothing will change that.”_

_“Dad, you’re scaring me…”_

_He swallows, his throat moving with it, scars rippling. “There is a reason, Yang, that you— that we— are not… that we have different names. Your sister is Rose. You are—”_

_“Xiao Long,” Yang interrupts, her mind straining for why, why on earth, he is telling her this, and why there’s a look of such profound dread in his eyes. “Dad, I don’t—”_

_“Summer,” he says, his voice like shattered glass underfoot, “was not your true mother.”_

_There is a moment when the Earth will stop turning and the world will shake under her feet; there is a moment for heroes to rise and the damned to fall, for the air to be ripped from her lungs, and there is a moment where Yang cannot see the light anymore. “She’s… she’s not? You’re… not lying…”_

_The hope dies as soon as it swells. Taiyang’s face looks like it’s chiseled from stone. And it is at that moment the first fire that will ever be kindled inside of her bursts forth._

_“You lied to me!” she shouts, her heart aching, threatening to spill over with misery, like a flood of torrential rain brimming over a hollow. “Summer wasn’t my mom at all? Ruby’s— she’s not even my sister, really.”_

_He looks sick with misery, his face ashen. “She_ is _, Yang, don’t say that. Family isn’t— it’s not blood. It’s bonds. Yang, I’m sorry. I thought it would have only hurt you to know—”_

 _“Let me tell you something,_ father. _Knowing is better than not knowing. Every time.” Then, abruptly: “Did Summer know my real mom? What about Qrow? Who else knows about what you’ve hidden?”_

_His shoulders shudder. “She knew,” he says, his voice catching on the past tense. “And Qrow— he knows. She… she is his sister."_

_“Raven,” Yang breathes, the name clicking instantly. Qrow’s elusive sister has never been a part of her life, and Summer and Taiyang never talk about her; she has assumed they had a feud of a sort and had all gone their own ways. But now Yang knows that it’s a lie. “Team STRQ. The missing teammate.”_

_“Yes,” he says, so soft he’s barely audible. “Raven. Raven… is your mother.”_

 

* * *

 

 

_Ruby finds Yang sitting alone by a lake, angrily flinging stones across the water, hidden by the whispering willows. There’s a venom creeping through her, but it’s only partially directed towards her father; the rest is a bitter hatred towards the mother that abandoned her so long ago._

_“Hey, Yang.”_

_Yang softens her erratic throwing, letting a stone arc from her fist and splash far out in the distance. Ruby picks her way down the slope on her six year old feet, sitting down beside Yang and watching her sadly. “Hey, Rubes.”_

_“Dad told me… about what happened.”_

_Yang’s mouth thins to a stern line, feeling ill with despair and anger on her small eight-year old shoulders. “Yeah. I’m sure he did.”_

_“You’re still as much my family as anyone,” Ruby says, picking up a rock and throwing it. It clumsily glances off a log and sinks below the surface without a trace. Her voice wobbles. “You know that, don’t you? We’ll be together forever.”_

_Yang hunches her shoulders. “You’re always my sister. No matter what, we gotta stick together. But… neither of us have moms now, Ruby. I don’t know what to do.”_

_Ruby starts crying silently, and Yang reaches over and hugs her, her heart feeling like it’s cracking silently._

_“I miss Mom,” Ruby croaks, sniffling. “I miss her so much. I can’t believe I’m never gonna see her again…”_

_“I’m so sorry, Ruby. I’m sorry. I miss Summer, too.” She looks out over the rippling lake, setting her jaw, and makes a vow:_ I _will_ find Raven, no matter what.

_“We have to do what she would want,” Yang continues as Ruby swallows back another round of tears and looks up with heartbroken silver eyes. “She would want you and me to get through this and to continue as Huntresses. To save the world, just like the heroes you’ve always loved. So we’ve gotta be strong. For Dad, and for each other.”_

_Ruby sniffs, nods. “I know.”_

 

* * *

 

_“Makin’ my way down to Signal, walking fast, faces pass, and I’m school-bound,” Yang sings, balancing on top of her luggage. Ruby picks up in an off-tune falsetto:_

_“Starin’ blankly ahead, just makin’ my way, making a way through the Grimm,” she warbles._

_Taiyang hauls out one last duffel bag and sets it down in bed of the rickety truck. “Well, kiddos, it’s time to go.” Yang pretends not to notice the over-brightness of his eyes, the scruff on his chin, and the bitter edge to his scent— one of whiskey. Summer’s death shows up in the smallest ways; all of them still hurt._

_“You’ll be good at Signal,” Taiyang says. “I teach there now. I’ll make sure you pull through with flying colors.”_

_“I know, Dad.”_

_Ruby bounces in her shoes. “Uncle Qrow says he’ll teach me to craft a scythe like his this year.”_

_“I’ll hold him to that, kiddo.” Taiyang helps Ruby clamber in the truck, and Yang follows after, sliding into the passenger seat with a cry of “shotgun!”_

_Then they are on their way, to a new chapter of life, a new page, a new beginning._

 

* * *

 

**_Yang - present day_ **

It was in a meandering fashion that they made their way back to the dorm, fitting together now where they hadn’t before; Blake’s hand was clasped with hers, the same feeling of electric energy crackling where their skin met. More than once, they stopped, distracted simply by one another; Yang had forgotten how thrilling it was in the beginning, how every movement of Blake’s caught her eye: the glint in her eyes, the way she walked, the way her hands stroked through Yang’s hair as she kissed her.

They hurried, laughing, as a distant noise in the hallways heralded the fact that they could be caught for breaking curfew. They ran back to the dorms, Blake laughing as Yang pulled her faster and faster, both of them holding hands all the while.

They stopped outside the dorm, and a sudden shyness washed over her as Blake watched her with luminescent eyes. “I’m really glad that you decided to come out to the balcony tonight.”

Blake’s smile was glittering in the darkness. “I am, too.”

Yang leaned forward on her tiptoes, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. “So… about our team and the others… I’d guess that they would be pretty surprised at—”

“At what?”

“Damn you, Blake,” she said, but she laughed. “You know _what._ But none of them will be surprised, and I can’t say they will, or I’d be lying.”

“Oh?”

She giggled. “Well, I don’t know if you knew, but you and me— well, we’re not exactly subtle.” She was rewarded by Blake coloring along her cheeks, before she dipped her head.

“I know.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she leaned close, her lips brushing Yang’s ear. Sparks whisked through her veins. “But we’d better get to sleep. The missions start fairly soon. And as much as tonight was exciting, I’m pretty worn out.”

“‘Course, kitten.” Yang laughed as Blake groaned, before she cracked open the door quietly, her other hand tightening in Blake’s. Weiss was already asleep, but as they walked in together, Ruby’s head raised, her eyes gleaming like a cat’s in the moonlight. She looked surprised before she saw them holding hands, a lack of distance between them where, before, there had been chasms.

 _“_ Are you two together?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep. Yang and Blake exchanged glances, before turning back and nodding as one. Yang felt warmth seep through her entire body, tingling through her from head to foot.

Ruby only rolled her gray eyes. “Great Vale, it’s about time,” was all she said in exasperation, before curling back into a slumbering ball.


	20. Chapter XIX - Fifteen Blows to the Back of Your Head

**_two years ago_ **

**_Emerald_ **

_It takes one month, three weeks, six days._

_She meets her in an alleyway, under a deceptively cheerful summer sun. Watching, like an eye, a silent sentinel. The shadows from the buildings loom, menacing; sirens wail in the distance. It’s all familiar. This is not what frightens her— it’s all easy territory._

_But the girl in the red dress with the amused amber eyes is not._

_There’s a glint of hot silver, the arch of dual swords over her shoulder. Emerald doesn’t think she’s a Huntress— she would have apprehended her for thievery— but she is perhaps as entirely dangerous, if not more so. There’s a presence about her, an amused coldness like a cat watching its prey, that sets Emerald on edge; somehow, the weapons on her back are not the inspiration of fear._

_“How did you do that?” she asks, her voice calm as waters with poisonous monsters slithering below the surface._

_Emerald goes to move, her teeth bared in an almost lion-like snarl. The girl follows her with an easy sidestep. Threatening. Forceful. Emerald’s hands go to the revolvers strapped on her hips— it’s a last resort, but most muggers back down quickly when they see the threat of violence in her eyes— but the other girl laughs; she is not an ordinary mugger and she is not_ most.

 _“Don’t,” she says, a smile in her voice. “Unless, of course, you_ want _them to hear you.”_

 _Grimacing, Emerald retreats. The stolen ring is snug in her pocket but it burns, as if a homing signal._ I need to get out of here — sell this thing — get back to safety.

 _“What do you want?” Emerald snaps, hearing the panicked voices nearing, alarms growing louder, escalating into the day._ I have to —

_“I’ve already told you,” the girl says, taking a few steps forward, the picture of poise and control. A glass anklet shifts with her steps: one, two—“And I don’t like repeating myself.”_

_“I didn’t do anything,” Emerald snarls, growing desperate. Her voice is too unsteady and too youthful to be threatening. She sounds like exactly what she is:_ afraid. _“Leave me alone!”_

 _The amber-eyed girl doesn’t, and she does not back down. That would be easy, and nothing is ever easy for Emerald. “I know my fair share of liars and thieves. Stealing is an art of patience, coordination, and sometimes, sleight of hand. But you did not_ steal _the ring in your pocket.”_

 _Emerald’s eyes widen against her will, and one hand creeps to feel the slight bulge of the ring at her hip._ How did she—?

 _“You took it right before the jeweler’s eyes._ And he smiled. _”_

_Emerald’s surprise burns away to a grim suspicion. This girl is not a Huntress. But just as safety is within law, there is danger within chaos._

_“Who_ are _you?”_

_“My name is Cinder,” the girl says with a smile devoid of light, of life, “and I have a proposition for you.”_

 

* * *

 

_There is a small house, tucked deep in the mountains, in the wilderness of Remnant where the Grimm do not stray. It’s deceptively peaceful, with a rill meandering across the front lawn, a sloping forest shielding it from prying eyes. It’s too calm to speak of the evil that lives within it._

_Cinder says it’s not a home; she regards it as a means to an end, as she does everything._

_Sometimes she returns at the stroke of midnight, blood on her clothes, eyes always burning,_ burning, _like two sockets of fire. Reading her is like trying to read a language she has never encountered. But she transcends the usual humanity that Emerald knows from her victims: possesses none of the greed, ambition, hatred, or even sorrow. She is calm, always calm, always damnably assured._

_Emerald does not have to be affable, or disarmingly friendly. Cinder sees through lies like they’re translucent._

_But she bleeds and is angry at the world, and Emerald knows both are things she shares. As odd as it seems, Cinder_ is _human, in the smallest ways it should count: a wound on her throat, an arrow to the heart. There are thin, whiplike scars all over her back, her shoulders; marked up in silver, painted in red; a painting once beautiful, now vandalized._

_But despite it all, sometimes Cinder doesn’t seem human at all. When she’s sitting in silence, there’s always a burning hunger behind her eyes, a flickering, furious anger that is reminiscent of a fire blazing out of control, killing everyone in its path._

_But everything monster was once human; every demon was once an angel. And she was once innocent; now she is a fragment of a person; her hunger has burned out her humanity, as poison burns the life from the blood._

_Emerald has never shared her goals. There’s a mutual distrust between them; they are a means to an end, for the present, two allies embracing each other while holding a knife to the other’s back, ready to betray and kill. She despises most of Remnant, of course, for its softness and haughtiness, but that doesn’t mean she wants to see it swallowed in darkness._

_Not yet._

 

* * *

 

_She wakes her in the middle of the night, when the moon is a slice of darkness, vacant from the sky. The light is gone, but her eyes glow with a cruel light like a raging conflagration._

_“Wake, and follow me,” she says, darkly, walking out into the forest, the dual swords flashing like stars in the dark. Emerald proceeds after her. Follows. Has only ever been able to walk in her wake of ashes._

_Cinder stops after a good mile of silent trekking, moving with a silent grace that is oddly chilling, not a leaf disturbed in her movement. They stop at the lip of a ravine. In the brush and trees below, a line of Grimm churns ceaselessly through the mud. But these are not the common breeds — not the Ursai or King Taijitus or even Beowolves; these are_ wrong _, reeking of misery and pain. Their pronged faces shimmer in the dark, narrowed eyes hard with the suppressed light of violence. The claws on their paws are long and could kill a man with a single swipe. New breeds, born from the darkness._

_Cinder turns to Emerald and smiles. It is not a thing of comfort; it looks as though it has been sliced into her face, dark, cold, and quietly amused, the smile of someone who would watch a person drown and not lift a finger to help._

_“What are those?” Emerald’s voice is hoarse and horrified._

_“Catalysts,” Cinder says, watching them; the crimson glow of the Grimm’s eyes is not unlike her own. “Mankind fights these monsters so blindly that we forget that there is a part of them within us. I have no great love for the monsters, but I have no fondness lost on the kingdoms, either. Both are forgetful, mindless. And they need to be burned away, and there will be a phoenix to rise from the ashes of their destruction. A better kingdom, and a better world.”_

_“I— I don’t…_ catalysts _?”_

_“You will question everything you know,” Cinder says softly, turning and blinking, a slow blink like a snake rising, uncoiling. “But I need a promise from you, Emerald Sustrai. Of obedience, and loyalty.”_

_“This is impossible,” Emerald protests. “I—”_

_“I saved you once,” Cinder snarls, eyes glowing, the first real, human anger coloring her tone. “I will not offer such kindness again. It is a grace I extend to no one else. Do you not see how foolish you would be to refuse it? It is your loyalty to my cause, to be given pardon to walk safely through the flames to the other side, or to be thrown back into the world that damned you — a world that is fated to burn and die.”_

_Emerald breathes, in the night and the starlight and freedom— God, just freedom— for once. And she chooses._

_“Yes,” she says softly. “I promise.”_

 

* * *

 

_After one of her unexplained disappearances, she staggers out from the forest one night into the little safe-house, bleeding and limping. Her swords are stained with red; she looks bone-tired, her eyes cast with shadow like a flame snuffed to embers. “Cinder,” Emerald chokes, because she’s never seen anyone get the better of her before. “You’re—”_

_“The cost of information is high, but nothing that is out of hand,” she says, and there is triumph in her voice, seeming very wrong against the ragged appearance she sports. “These wounds are nothing. We move tomorrow to Mistral.”_

_“What are you doing? What — what is all this for?” Emerald asks, desperate, as the stars dawn into a sky like a translucent dome turned on its side. Cinder turns, her face like a grinning skull’s in the darkness— disembodied, grim. There is not the anger in her eyes that Emerald expects — not even the longing. There is merely a cold, flat, frightening blankness, and her voice is tired, aching. She seems to be half-talking to herself, listening to a voice on the wind, in her mind._

_“Not enough,” she says, softly. “It’s never enough.”_

_She turns, disappears into the shadows, as much a part of them as they are of her. Emerald does not follow, and it feels like a shard has been driven into her throat as she looks up at all the constellations she has never really seen before now._

_It’s been a week. It feels like she’s aged a year, an age, a lifetime in between the then and the now; the gray and the void._

 

* * *

 

_They find themselves at a pub in Mistral, crawling with drunkards and leering lowlifes. It brings back memories for Emerald. She’s well-trained in the art of charming and stealing, of caressing a person’s ego while the other hand swipes them for all they have._

_The bartender is cleaning off shot glasses with a rag just as filthy as the earthy floor, and yet Cinder stalks through it all with a precision and grace of chilled focus. The crowd parts effortlessly around them, silent and watching: once they get close enough to see the look in Cinder’s eyes, the look at Emerald is slowly adopting herself— a stare that says_ no matter how cruel you believe yourself to be, I’m worse _— they veer away. If she had been told before now that people had auras that were of personality and not of strength, Emerald wouldn’t believe it. Now she’s learned not to write off anything as impossible._

 _She stops at the counter, pinning him with her golden glare. Demanding answers as she did with Emerald, refusing any_ no’s. _“I have intelligence that Marcus Black lives in this area. I wish to take on an apprentice from him.”_

_He swallows._ _One eyebrow is kind of raised and his mouth is slightly open as if he is perpetually on the verge of saying something, but never quite gets around to it. “Ma’am…?”_

_Cinder’s mouth curves in a lovely, cold smile, her eyes dark, looped with fire._ “Marcus Black, _my good sir. I believe I asked_ you _a question. Where is he?”_

_The man slowly sets the shot glass down and bows his head nervously. “He lives in the mountains to the east, with his son. At the peak in a little cottage. Ma’am— he’s_ dangerous _, that one—”_

_The smile drops, replaced with a grim coldness like ice, of a predator scenting its prey. Her scorn is palpable. “Your concern is admirable, but unnecessary. That will be all, thank you. Come, Emerald,” she says with a touch of imperiousness before turning, shearing through the crowd with her head high, steps never faltering._

 

* * *

 

_The mountains rear against the sky like serrated teeth, jagged and cruel. Emerald cannot imagine anyone living in them, but this is an assassin they are after, and Cinder only would go after those as morally depraved as she is. But Emerald cannot judge. Her life of thievery and cruelty attests to that._

_Night is falling as the two of them reach the peak, the stars as bright as a handful of diamonds scattered across a dark cloth. Spidery shadows shimmer across the ground, the moonlight feeble. Emerald thinks they’re going to go right up to the peak, and to the assassin’s front door, but Cinder stops at the very edge of the coniferous forest, head tilted, before a disconcerting smile— not a cold smirk, but a grin— curves her face. When they both stop behind a broad oak tree, remaining in the shadows, Emerald sees why._

_There is a house on the peak. But it is burning with an inferno, swallowed by tinder and licking flame. The dark shadows of what once was a home shimmer blackly within the light, and there are two figures locked in an intense struggle in front of the flame, blood soaking the ground to black. There’s an older man with white hair, savagely striking out at the younger boy fighting him._

_“Father and son,” Cinder observes with a detached amusement, the flickering of firelight dancing with a cruel glee in her eyes. “How quickly do the bonds of familial affection unravel under too much pressure, as fire tries gold…”_

_Emerald’s breath catches as the son kicks out, seeing the wilting bandages circling his legs; they are crimson and_ awful. _The man lets out a scream of agony that is bloodcurdling even from this distance. “Cinder, you can’t — the assassin — “_

_“The assassin,” she breathes, as soft and crackling as a spark uncurling on the air, “no. Not him. He is too savage, too sly, not subtle enough. There will be one winner of this battle, and it is clear who the victor will be. Thought itself turns energy, and his hate has become a living creature. Now the son turns on his father.”_

_As Emerald watches, the gray-eyed son lashes out with a cry of hatred, his leg punching outward, belting his father in the chest with a blow that makes Emerald cringe. Marcus Black’s eyes fly wide, dark and stunned and looped in gray, before he staggers back, sinks to his knees, and crumples onto his face. Blood pools out around his chest, trickling from his slack mouth._

_He does not move again._

_Emerald watches one man die, cut down by his son. Cinder looks at the corpse with something bordering contempt, before she emerges from the trees and starts up the path. After a pause — if Emerald follows Cinder now, she knows she cannot ever return to her old life — before she looks at the body, sees the flat, blank eyes, and something in her veins grows cold._

_She follows Cinder._

_The son of Black has turned and stumbled away from his father’s corpse, coughing and retching horribly. His legs are shaking, blood rusting them; his cheekbone is darkening and swelling with a bruise. He looks up, his lip curling in defiance, as Cinder nears him. But then he swallows and drops his fists as Emerald treads up silently behind her. He is in no shape to fight the both of them._

_“What are you looking at?” he shouts, his voice dark and furious._

_“I’m looking for Marcus Black,” Cinder says to the boy, warily, and Emerald realizes with a jolt of electric surprise that this gray-eyed boy has managed to do the impossible: surprise Cinder, throw off her plans._

_The boy coughs out a laugh of horrible amusement, mixed with a dark fury in his eyes. “You want my father? There you go.” He flings out a bloody hand towards the facedown corpse, naked pain written across his face. “He’s— was— a bastard, got what he had coming—"_

_“That’s the assassin,” Emerald whispers._ Overpowered and betrayed by his own flesh and blood.

 _“And_ you’re _his son,” Cinder says to the boy, who doesn’t acknowledge the statement, merely wiping a thin trail of blood from his split lip. “We watched your fight from the treeline. It would seem he has taught you well.”_

_“Guess so,” he growls with a cold look to the cooling body. “Guess he taught me a little too well.”_

_Cinder goes in for the kill, stepping delicately across the tussocks of grass, and Emerald realizes why she came, and her eyes widen as she looks between the two of them, the pictures of opposites: silver and ash, poise and fury, broken and controlled. “What is your name?”_

_The boy looks up. There is ash on his face, white and fine, and sparks in his eyes. Emerald sees him realize that he is in the presence of danger made flesh. She sees the insolence leave his face, and sees fear enter his eyes in its place. “Mercury.”_

_Cinder circles him, her eyes shifting and changing and_ burning, _living gold like the fire that devours the peak. “_ Mercury _,” she breathes in a half-hiss, half-purr. “Tell me, are you anything like your father?”_

_Mercury’s grin is surely painful, a rictus of blood and pearl. “He is dead, and I am alive. He was a damned fool and I was smarter than he was, in the end.”_

_“Come with me,” she says, “come with me, and you will never be underestimated again.”_

_Emerald tastes bitterness, bile, on the back of her throat:_ come with me, and you will never be hungry again.

Thank you…

_Mercury’s eyes narrow at her, a sharp contrast of steel against gold. “Tempting,” he says in a growl, “but what’s in it for me?”_

_Emerald’s anger rises inside of her as she looks back at the corpse on the ground._ If he would kill his own father so easily, why would he not do the same to us? _“We don’t_ need _him,” Emerald says, her voice sharp in the crackle and pop of the dying embers. “Everything was going fine!”_

 _Cinder moves faster than the eye can follow, a blur of red. Pain explodes across Emerald’s left cheek, white and blinding. Her head snaps around and she’s dimly aware that a cry leaves her, before the world shifts back into focus, and Cinder’s hand is lowering, her eyes hotter and more furiously angry than the fire that lives around them. “Do_ not _mistake your place,” she snarls._

_Emerald bows her head. “Yes, ma’am.”_

_Mercury’s grinning at the exchange, a grin devoid of kindness. Emerald does not give him— or her— the satisfaction of showing her pain._

_When he agrees to join up with them, her anger is more bitter than the taste of ash on the air._

 

* * *

 

_Cinder needs allies, people who are willing to get their hands dirty while she crafts the plans. Like a puppeteer, or a spider spinning its deadly web._

_Mercury quotes things his father has said, often, which Emerald finds to be sickening. Even she knows that lack of remorse is not a good thing. But it seems to amuse Cinder, if anything._

_Mercury leads them to a man named Torchwick. He’s nothing altogether impressive or unique, but there is a cunningness and cruelty in him — something vulpine and cold lurking behind his eyes— that makes Cinder ally herself with him. Emerald doesn’t like him. Doesn’t like the lecherous smirks he seems to always wear, doesn’t like the way he takes pleasure at the prospect of unnecessary violence and pain, and most of all, doesn’t like the way he places himself above her and Mercury._

_But there is always pain in the recollection and she is too far ensnared to back out now._

 

* * *

 

 _It’s a pain in the ass to trudge through miles of barren wasteland, crawling with Grimm, to get to the territory of the White Fang. Emerald thinks that it seems fundamentally wrong to see Cinder, of all people, forced to_ beg _— but something in her tone, some power, is persuasive enough, and the White Fang lackeys agree to allow them an audience with the leader._ Adam Taurus, the leader alongside Ayran, _they say. That’s his name, the revered secondary leader who brought them power and respect. The adoration in their eyes seems familiar— until Emerald realizes that their blind worship is not unlike her own._

_She expects a stupid, hulking brute who will agree immediately to ally with him. Another mindless lackey, except perhaps with more physical prowess, and people to back him up. What she expects could not be farther from the truth._

_They are taken to a beige tent, the front flap held open by a brutish guard. He leers at them as they walk in, heads bowed. Cinder proceeds to the center, and she indicates with a jerk of her head that Emerald and Mercury should remain behind her. Mercury looks unnerved at the sight of the White Fang’s leader, and as he turns around, Emerald sees why._

_Adam’s eyes, through the mask, glitter with intelligence and stealthy cunningness. He stands out from the others, and there are hard, angular lines to his face, speaking of cruel wisdom, of years of battle. This is not a mindless animal. This is a man with a mind and plots of his own, and one side of his mouth lifts in a silent smirk at them._

_Cinder seems taken aback, too, but she quickly gathers herself as he waits silently, glowering at them._

_“So, let me get this straight,” he growls, waving a hand for the other lackeys to leave. “You could have gone to anyone for help. You could have conducted a deal with a gang leader, paid off a Hunstmen that had strayed from their_ righteous path _,” he spits out the words, derogatory, “but instead, you choose to seek an audience with me.” He juts his head forward, eyes flaring darkly, even through the mask. The painted red swirls look like fresh blood._

_Cinder’s voice is as smooth as glass. “You’re the one we need._ _Your skill. Your ability to lead those beneath you. You're an exceptionally valuable man, Adam. And we've put a lot of thought into—”_

_Emerald winces as he interrupts her with a harsh anger in his tone. “Then you're clearly not thinking straight! If you truly understood me, you would know coming here was a mistake. The White Fang is not an organization for hire. We are not people for you to make into monsters once more. We're a force of revolution!”_

_Adam’s fist was slices through the air and Mercury exchanges a look of amused contempt with her. She grins, hiding it smoothly as a guard glares at her, before looking back. Cinder is unmistakably tense, her shoulderblades pronounced, muscles rippling under her skin. But she speaks calmly still, voice as unruffled as stone. “I believe our plan will be beneficial for all parties involved.”_

_Adam is silent, all calmness gone. He paces restlessly, prowling like a cat, as Cinder watches him warily._

_“I have... an associate in Vale,” she says, though there is reluctance in her tone: Emerald and Mercury both know that this is her trum_ p _card, and that she’s obviously displeased not to have his immediate agreement. “He and I are working on a revolution of our own. But we can't do it without your forces. We need—”_

_Adam’s head snaps up, a scowl twisting his face. “No. What you need is to_ leave _.” Cinder’s back straightens, and even from the behind, Emerald can sense her anger, like it’s scorching the air. “You’re asking my men to die for your cause — a_ human _cause.” His hand finds the hilt of his sword, eyes narrow as slits. “That is not an idea I’m willing to entertain, for you, or for anyone.”_

_Cinder forces herself to bow with a clipped, “very well,” and Emerald shivers, despite herself, at the cold fury in her eyes as her master turns around and exits the tent, each step like a gunshot. She doesn’t know much about her, but one thing has always been painfully clear: when Cinder wants something, she does not give up, and she does not take no for an answer. They will return here, that much is certain. But the real question is who will be hurt in the path for triumph._  
  
  


* * *

 

 _When Cinder tells them about the guardians, the_ Maidens _, it’s Mercury who is doubtful. But Emerald has seen enough of the world to know that no rule of the universe holds true forever. And if magic exists, so be it. Cinder’s hellbent determination to seize the power is a plan that finally makes sense to Emerald. Go in, attack, take it, and leave. It should be simple._

 _But it’s Cinder and it’s her hunger and greed: nothing is ever simple, nothing is ever_ enough.

 _She lays out a plan to attack, every detail counted, every option carefully considered and expelled._ There is no way, _she says._ No way the Maiden can escape. Not her, with her power, or even with her tricks and magic.

_Emerald stands in the middle of a broad, beaten path, a fence that has long since seen its better days. The trees rustle and breathe in the wind, a far-off rumble of thunder shivering through the air; the sun is gone, the sky leeched of color._

_Amber approaches on a snowy-white stallion, the click of hooves echoing in the still air. She will be at her peak of power. This is Autumn’s element; the power of the third season._ She will try to control the elements until the elements control her, _Emerald thinks bitterly._ This is truly darkness’s season.

_She closes her eyes, conjuring up an image in her head of a little girl, of a dream she once held close, of who she could have been many years ago. When she opens them, she can see both reality— and the illusion—as Amber dismounts her horse and heads towards the false image, totally unsuspecting._

_Resentment bubbles up, hot and choking, in Emerald’s chest. She doesn’t know Amber, but in that moment, her scruples about this act of terror are buried. People like this Maiden— they’re all willing to help the innocent, the weak, the sick— they are willing to help a child. But_ she _was a child once, not who she is now, and nobody helped her, nobody cared. Not a single person since Cinder has ever extended a hand to her, taken pity on her plights: she hates that it still matters, that someone should care — but there it is. Cinder saw her when no one else did._

_She shifts her foot backward for better balance, yanking her revolvers from their holsters. Amber looks up straightaway, and Emerald capitalizes on the moment, springing forward and jamming her thumbs on the triggers. Green light flashes out, but Amber’s hood falls back to reveal a cold, determined face. Emerald almost falters— the shade of her eyes is so like Cinder’s— before she hardens her heart and shoots on._

_Amber’s hand flashes out, casting an unforgiving wind whisking towards her. Emerald’s eyes widen before it slams into her, knocking her backward; as she scrambles back to her feet, she sees Mercury fly down from the sky and crash into Amber._

_With unbelievable agility, she deflects his charge and he shoots backward, using the momentum to propel himself from a crumbling fence pillar and back towards Amber. Her jaws gape in a soundless cry of defiance, fire blossoming and streaming from her staff._

_But Emerald knows what she does not: Mercury lets his legs take the brunt of the damage. For his legs are not flesh and blood, but machinery and unfeeling gears. Charred metal flashes like a dying star, and he kicks her square in the chest. She flies back with a shriek, hitting the ground_ hard, _and Emerald uses the moment to jump down and smash her heels into Amber’s chest. Something crunches, and Mercury follows up on her attack, leaving her lying limp as a rag-doll on the ground._

_But then her head lifts._

_Fire, as fierce and unforgiving as the sun, blazes from her eyes, the color of it blinding. Emerald looks away, but the afterimage is seared into her eyes in colors of violet and blue. She is borne into the air on wind and air, and Emerald shields her eyes from the lash of the gale. She sees lightning flash against her eyelids, spears of heavenly fire forking down from the purpling sky._

_A spear bigger than the rest darts down like a snake towards the two of them. Emerald barely has time to shove off with her feet, landing clumsily as fire erupts behind her, white hot and searing._

_As she dances in a kind of pirouette, avoiding the strikes of white fire, Emerald feels a tug in her veins, a prickle between her shoulder blades, and relief engulfs her._ Cinder, _she thinks, her eyes shifting over and back: sure enough, there she is, her amber eyes cool and amused at the Maiden’s extravagant display of power._

_Emerald fires at Amber, and Mercury does, too, both of them trying to provide cover until the last second. But their shots bounce off harmlessly; horror envelopes her as Amber raises her hand, calling on Nature itself._

_Leaves flock up to her bidding, a swirling, roaring maelstrom of paradoxically beautiful green. As Emerald watches, dumbfounded, they turn to cold ice, arrowheads of white, raining down upon her._

_She is unable to withhold a shriek of pain as razor tips tear into her flesh, leaving berry-bright droplets of blood in their wake._

_But then it stops. Emerald peels open her eyes to see Amber whirl around, casting a seething sphere of fire towards—_ Cinder!

 _She’s running in a sharp, determined stride, her face like the diving pronouncing of an angel. She soars over the fireball with ease, landing with a skid of billowing dirt. Emerald circles back around as Cinder uses her semblance to turn the dirt to jagged glass shards, sending them in a hail of deadly projectiles at Amber. She falls from the sky with a howl of anger and agony, hitting the ground_ hard, _the fire leaving her eyes. Emerald does not waste a moment; she creeps into Amber’s unraveling mind, spinning an illusion there. But a surge of determination throws her out, and Amber’s eyes grow round as moons as she sees Cinder hurtling towards her, her swords slicing through the air._

_But, impossibly, Amber deflects the blast, kicking her away. Cinder goes crashing backward with a grunt of pain, and Emerald and Mercury exchange glances before rushing forward in her stead._

_Amber punches Mercury hard, and he goes flying back with a yell of pain. It’s up to Emerald, then, to distract the fallen Maiden as Cinder makes her move, and her heart is thundering like a waterfall in her veins as the vengeful Amber glares at her from fire-filled eyes. As she kicks Emerald away, her blow weak and faltering, three arrows hurtle down around her with shrill wails. She only has time to cast a terrified look towards Cinder before they explode, and she_ screams, _an awful scream of agony that Emerald feels resonate right down to her chilled heart._

_Amber is down, blood matting her head, wounds gashing her body. There’s an awful burn on her side, the clothes charred and eaten away like acid. Emerald feels a pang of relief to not have to fight her anymore, with such savage brutality. She looks down for the count._

_But as they approach, flanking Cinder on either side, Amber lets out a defiant yell, her hand swiping out and sending the strongest blast of wind yet. Emerald goes flying backward before hitting the ground hard. She curls and rolls, but it’s not enough, and her side explodes in agony. Something must be wounded. Blood fills her mouth as she bites down hard with the impact, flesh turning ragged and metallic with blood._

_She staggers back to her feet, throwing a weak illusion of herself to the left. But then Amber snarls and hurls a fireball at the illusion, blasting it to pieces of smoke, and Emerald only has time to gape before a fireball smashes into her stomach and she’s knocked the ground, a ceaseless whine of agony thrumming through her._

_She looks up._

_Amber is standing over her, and there is a look in her eyes that Emerald knows too well. The look of fury and hatred. The look that she used to get all the time on the streets, the look of killing and darkness and all the places of the night that do not allow mercy. She sees a shaft of sunlight angle down from the clouds and strike the glittering jewel on Amber’s staff, and she closes her eyes: it is a last image of beauty before she is killed._

_She hears the staff raised, hears it hurtling down—_

_and then it buries itself in the ground beside her head, and Amber shrieks in pain. Emerald’s heart stops as she cracks open an eye to see Amber slump forward, an arrow protruding from between her shoulderblades. Blood begins to ooze out around the bristling shaft. Beyond her, Cinder is lowering her bow with a look of fury on her face._

_Cinder just saved her life and put her in a debt she will never be able to repay._

_Unsteadily, Emerald hauls herself to her feet as Mercury trots over, his gray eyes narrowed. “You okay?” he says out of the corner of his mouth, and she frowns._

_“I’ll manage.”_

_Together, they each hook an arm under Amber’s and force her up. Cinder approaches at a leisurely saunter, pulling on a glittering white glove with a pattern splashed on it, like fresh blood. Her grin is lazy and dangerous, and Amber recoils with fear at the sight._

_As Cinder poises the glove in front of her face, a shrill whine hums through the air before a dark Portal opens, a Grimm crawling out. Amber knows, must know, what it is, for she goes taut, straining backward._

_“Please— please don’t,” she gasps, eyes white and rolling with fear. Cinder merely bends her face closer, eyes always cold as flint._

_“Your time is over. Let this be a message to the poor fools who put all their faith in you, and now will know you failed them, Autumn,” she whispers, before the Grimm clicks its pincers menacingly, dark strands flying out and splattering on the Maiden’s face. She lets out a grunting shriek of agony before she collapses forward with a gut-wrenching scream of pain, shaking; Emerald’s lip curls in a snarl._

_Then wind explodes around them. Emerald nearly staggers, but she grips Amber’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood, and the Maiden arches, a long, low groan of pain falling from her. Mercury is grinning fiercely, gray eyes cold and hard as he stares at the arrow protruding from Amber’s back. A glow comes from Amber’s eyes, hot and fiery._

_Cinder freezes before her head goes back, body arching like her bow, and a veil of flame shimmers through her veins, up her arm: golden bones connected by tendons of fire._

_Amber_ howls _, then, a scream that is unable to be articulated by the sheer amount of agony that throbs within it, a scream like her soul is being severed in two. Cinder’s laugh is lost in the sudden crackle of flame, and she looks up, gray clouds casting a net of shadow across her face._

_And then her eyes catch light._

_Her eyes are gold. They always have been, but Emerald swears something has changed now, that the gold within them lives and_ _burns. Sweat shines along her cheekbones, and she’s breathing hard as Amber slackens, all the fight draining from her._

_Emerald’s caught in a stupefied sort of horror, because in that moment, she can sense, more than see, the last vestiges of humanity being burnt out of Cinder. There is light flowing into her, but it is only darkness that she is gaining._

_Then there’s the distant sound of footsteps before silver, bright and blinding, flashes down before her and throws Cinder back, tendrils of light dissipating into the air with fainting hisses. Emerald springs back as a sword swings out at her viciously, a man with hard angry eyes catching Amber as she falls. Then she’s flipping backward through the air, flinging out an illusion as he turns his gaze towards Cinder: blurring the air, blurring the mind._

_But then Cinder’s mouth is curving in the cold, catlike smile, her left eye alive with fire, looking not human — no — but something seraphic and untouchable._

_Then darkness descends upon her and she is gone._

 

* * *

 

_Emerald comes to consciousness slowly. There’s a cold weight against her back, sunlight glaring against her eyelids. When she blinks, the world swings into focus: she is in an alleyway._

_Her heart thumps— the irony is not lost on her— but then she sees Mercury sitting on a crate with a cocky smirk on his face; he’s eating an apple, and he offers one to her. His pantlegs are still scorched away; there are char marks on his prosthetics._

_“No thanks,” she says, still narrowing her eyes at the stained walls looming around them._

_“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, swallowing._

_“Where is Cinder?”_

_Another noisy bite. Mercury swallows and purses his lips thoughtfully. “Think she went to go nab some Haven uniforms. Plan two’s in action, supposedly.”_

_Emerald shivers and pulls up a desecrated crate from her right, sitting atop it. Mercury doesn’t look fazed at the injuries slashed over his skin, though hers still sting like fury. “That was a harder fight then I expected it to be.”_

_Mercury grins around the red of the apple; it looks like blood. “Three versus one? Give me a break, Emerald, no one is_ that _strong, not even some mythical guardian. Weird powers or not, we would have won eventually.”_

_Emerald frowns at the ground, nudging a glinting shard of glass with her toe. It sparks like fire in the light. “But she didn’t get all of the powers, did she? Cinder, I mean.”_

_Mercury’s smirk slowly fades into true exhaustion, brows settling together in a hard line of trepidation. “No. That bastard, that Huntsman— I guess broke off the connection before she got ‘em all. And she’s acting really weird now, too. She seemed… irritated. More liable to snap out. Good thing you were still out cold before she left, or she would’ve probably yelled at you, too.” Mercury glances at his arm and Emerald notices that there is a bloody gash on his skin— one that he didn’t get in the fight with Amber._

_Emerald takes the apple Mercury lobs her way and bites into it, not really noticing the bleak irony again: her hunger is mental at this point. A dull ache… though for what, she cannot name._

_“Excuse you,” Mercury grunts, breaking into her thoughts. “I asked you a question, thief-girl.”_

_“That’s not my name,” she growls, nerves stretched to the breaking point. He flicks a strand of metallic hair from his eyes._

_“Yeah, whatever. How did Cinder meet_ you _?”_

 _Emerald eyes him suspiciously, trying to determine what ulterior motive he could possibly have, but he seems genuine. “I was in a lot of trouble. Pickings were lean, and the whole city was on the lookout. I… got a ring with my semblance and she caught me in an alley. Recruited me then.” Her teeth clench as he tosses the core of the apple behind him, still ripe with food; it bounces away and lands in shadow. “And you_ weren’t _supposed to be joining us.”_

_“Grudge on me all you like,” he says with an bitter scowl that makes her want to punch him in the nose. “It’s not like you or I are saints.”_

 

* * *

 

_Cinder does manage to acquire three Haven uniforms, a handsome scarlet-patterned arrangement, accented with darker colors. Mercury looks like he’s swallowing a large, unpleasant pill as he pulls his on; Emerald doubts he has ever worn anything that can be considered formal, by any means. But she herself is much more comfortable when she dons a new outfit — this isn’t her old green camisole and dark khakis, but a new plated armor that wraps around her torso, with holsters for her revolvers. There is the pattern of a gem between the shoulderblades. Fitting, and it makes her feel more dangerous— more in charge of her own fate._

_It takes a lot of planning and lot of trial and error to make their way, undetected, into Beacon, and even then— even as the eyes of the others pass over her— she feels exposed and vulnerable. But they do make it. And Emerald feels the ice in her veins grow a bit colder with every step that takes her deeper into the twisting labyrinth of the school._

_She falls asleep that night to darkness and wind._

Emerald is dreaming. She is on the shore of a lake webbed in blue ice, the frozen landscape smoking with cold. She expels a breath of swirling mist; frost furs the ground in sparkling nebulas.

There is a girl in the center of the lake. Emerald squints and blinks; she is young and slender. There are white wings protruding from her back, flying wide and high, shimmering in a lattice of ice. A girl with gray eyes, not unlike Mercury’s, but hers are strong and determined, her face still soft with hope, with love — things that have so long been denied to Emerald, emotions she has written off as the brothers of weakness. 

Emerald’s heart jumps as she sees her master on the lake, fire flickering in her wake. Ice and fire, together.

Cinder is there, turning away, always turning away, her shining eyes always hidden by flame or mist or her own dark hair. And she, too, is winged, dark feathers tinged with blood and ice. As Emerald watches, the gray-eyed girl and Cinder begin fighting; Emerald cries out as they struggle on the frozen lake, moving faster than her eyes can follow, two blurs of darkness and light. Locked in lethal embraces, attacking and springing away, they rise in the air. Emerald has never seen anyone match Cinder; in her sleep, she shudders.

The girl with the white wings knocks Cinder out of the sky. Before Emerald can move, a storm carries her away into darkness, into a land of swirling pillars of fire, of screaming and cold red eyes, of a place where the light cannot find her.

She wakes.

_Her hand flies to her throat, where her heartbeat is loud and rushing. On the other side of the room, Mercury’s hair is metallic in the moonlight, strands of starlight; Cinder is gone. Emerald remembers blood and darkness and fire and she shivers. The ice in her veins has only been growing colder and colder._

Come with me, and you’ll never be hungry again.

 _But she_ is _. This is not a physical hunger; this is a gnawing sense of dread at her heart. She is in the heart of good, here, at Beacon. But she feels so_ wrong.

_But in the end, it is always better to be the killer than to be killed; fifteen blows to the back of the head are always better with the lights off._

_She will regret. She will want. She will hate. She will, she will, she will._

_But it’s much too late to turn back now, and Emerald rolls over, trying to ignore the desperately burning pressure behind her eyes._

_As sleep rises up to claim her, she runs gratefully into the darkness._


	21. Chapter XX - As Ashes

_three years prior…_

**_Blake_ **

 

If she closed her eyes, she could pretend for a heartbeat that the world was not a vicious, cruel place, and that her destiny held more than just walls closing upon her, and _pain,_ such pain. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she could pretend that she was alright, but it never really was enough. Sometimes she felt like a fool, out on the edge, like she was screaming her name at the top of her lungs but no one was _hearing;_ no one ever had.

“ _Blake!”_

She fell down for the third time of the day, disarmed, Adam’s sword bearing down at the hollow of her throat. She felt the cold kiss of the metal at her throat, edging against her skin, hungry for her blood. “What’s gotten into you?” Adam snarled, jerking his sword away with a sharp movement. “How am I supposed to train with you if you’re not even paying attention? Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, rolling to the side and regaining her feet.

He had discarded his mask, and the scars around his eyes looked even more cruel and unnatural in the half-light. “That’s a lie,” he said sharply, but a faint smile played around his mouth, and she felt him lurking in the Bond.

Immediately, she shut him out and recoiled, stumbling against the uneven floor. “Stop _doing_ that.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” he demanded, his smile vanishing like mist under a hot sun. “I mean, hell, we get back from crashing a train and you go all silent and brooding on me— God, this happens every time! I thought you wanted to do more than just pointless rallies, and we can, but sometimes you act like you’re angry that Julian stepped down and Ayran’s in charge now!”

Blake felt hot and cold all at once, her veins thrumming like electricity.  “That crew member,” she began, changing the subject with her heart beating fast. “The one who died in the train crash. The one we _killed._ ” 

“She had an instant death,” he growled, his face more feral than she had ever seen it, “I promise you, pet. At least that. No pain. Not like us.” 

“That’s _not true.”_ She jackknifed up, her heart feeling knotted up and sick and twisted and wrong. “And what is an _‘instant’_ death anyway, Adam? How long is an instant? Is it one second? Ten? The pain of those seconds must have been awful as her heart burst, and her lungs collapsed, and there was no air and no blood to her brain and only raw panic. What the hell is _instant?_ I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.” 

He looked at her as if she’d started speaking in a foreign language, his teeth glittering in the dark as he bared them. He was no longer a boy. There was a darkness in him she could see, now, a restless shadow that consumed his mind. “What the hell, Blake? Why does it even matter?”

She stood up, pacing restlessly like a poison had raged out of control in her veins. “It’s _life,_ Adam!” She was yelling now, words hurtling out of her mouth without her consent, disregarding the dangerous gleam coming to life in Adam’s eyes. “Can’t you see that? It’s _life!”_

Blinding pain exploded across her cheek, snapping her head around, and she cried out, jagged bolts of light flashing through her vision before fading from the blow. He lowered his gloved hand, eyes hot with anger, his voice murderous. “That’s quite enough out of you.”

Her jaw seared with pain, and she glared at him. He would not meet her gaze, and after a moment, he turned to go, slamming the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

“What do you _mean_ I don’t need to know who they were?”

Adam stopped at the mouth of the tent, watching the three figures disappear into the darkness— a woman in a gilded red dress, a warrior with emerald-colored revolvers, a boy with ashy hair and strange gray eyes. “It was a failed transaction, Blake. They want what Ayran cannot give to them— our forces and our might.” He looked at her suspiciously. “I have half a mind to chase them out with their tails between their legs.” He didn’t seem to notice the phrase as he walked away, boots kicking up puffs of dust.

She followed, loathing the way the other lackeys bowed their heads in respect— or _fear,_ she thought _—_ as they passed. “Why did you talk to them, then? Why you, and not Ayran?”

Adam paused, his mask giving away nothing. “Ayran is feeling unwell. You know this. He did not want to waste his strength arguing with thickskulled humans hellbent on wasting lives.”

“Or did he not know they were here?”

Adam grunted as they passed two Faunus children who were running and squealing in joy as they raced past the pair of them, and Blake tore her gaze away from them with a shiver. “Ayran is… not as young as he once was. And his better days are past him now. As his Elite guard, it’s up to me to pick up in his wake.”

“So you’re saying if I were to speak to him— to tell him you had human visitors today— he would be perfectly content with it?”

Adam’s face stiffened and he stopped, eyes glowing with anger. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She watched him with narrowed eyes, and he looked at her, a tension crackling like storm clouds between them. But he must have seen the falter in her eyes, for he snorted, and turned away. “No,” he murmured, half to himself. “You wouldn’t, love, because you hate him more than you love the thought of playing a hero.”

She stared after him as he walked away, feeling as though her heart was tying itself into knots, falling down down _down._ “I don’t know _what_ I am anymore,” she whispered, but he had already moved beyond her reach.

 

* * *

 

**_present day…_ **

 

_Blake is hurtling through nightmares again._

_These are different. She is used to seeing Adam’s face in her dreams. She is used to seeing masks and corpses and death, so much death. But this is not a typical nightmare._

_Darkness lays in an endless plain around her. Blood is thick on the air, so curdling, so thick, she feels like she’s choking on it. And all around her, metal flashes and screams rise to the stars themselves, a fight whose blood will stain the earth for moons to come. Blake used to think of battle as an organized affair, but this is anything but: hands grab at her and seize her into the fray, like she has accidentally wandered into a riot. Chaos. Calamity. Death. As a warrior herself, she is in her element. But she feels blind and deaf as she’s tossed into the darkness._

_Then, suddenly, there is gold in the dark, so bright Blake feels as though it can scatter sparks, sending them floating heavenward to the sea of stars. Yang appears, suddenly from the chaos, a spark born from a bed of fire. Deep in her mind, the ever diminishing part, Blake knows it’s a nightmare. But she can’t wake up because this all feels very real and very familiar: the blood, the darkness, the fear and pain. Suddenly she’s not in charge of her fate anymore— she’s just a scared sixteen year old in an organization turned to darkness, with no idea if she’ll make it out of the crossfire or die trying._

_“Yang,” Blake says softly. Her partner sways on her feet and she can’t process, really, why she is here— unless she has come to life from her own fear. “What— why are you here? You have to get out!”_

_Yang opens her mouth to speak, before her eyes fly round with shock, two dilated rings of terror. The pupils of her eyes are so wide and dark Blake feels like she’s falling into them, into a never-ending black hole._

_Blake looks down— and sees the sword sticking out of Yang’s chest._

_Stabbed in the back._

_A look of disbelieving confusion passes over Yang’s face; she glances down at herself, where the blade sticks grotesquely out of her chest—it looks more bizarre than horrible, like a prop from a nightmare that makes no logical sense. Blake chokes and the realization that it’s a nightmare, and not reality, flies away from her because this feels so_ real— _and as if the suspension of disbelief was all that was holding her up, Yang goes to her knees. She looks at Blake in puzzlement, as if she has no idea why she is there, and no idea why she doesn’t know. She opens her mouth as if to ask the question, and blood pours over her chin, staining what is left of her ragged jacket to scarlet._

_Yang’s head is thrown back, sword point jutting out in harsh relief as liquid rubies of blood spill down her skin in a ceaseless tide, the curve of her throat and her skin turned to saffron in the moon and starshine. She looks down, lilac eyes huge, burning with molten shimmering gold, like she is filling with light inside. She looks peaceful, the blazing hilt of the sword protruding from her chest, her arms thrown to either side of her, like the wings of a fallen angel, and amidst the carnage, her eyes are only locked on Blake, a still peace, a calm, in them. In that moment, Blake can imagine she is an angel, fallen, her bones turning to tinder through the flames that slowly catch to her skin. An amber aura blazes up about her._

_And then she begins to burn._

Blake woke up violently, thrashing, coughing and trembling and shaking, always shaking. Her hair was plastered to her head with sweat, and she passed a hand in front of her eyes as if to make sure that it was over. 

She let out a shuddering breath as she felt Yang behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, her breathing deep and even in sleep. Blake sank back onto the pillows, trying to control her own heart rate, but she kept seeing the awful image as if had been branded into her mind. 

“Blake?” Yang stirred as she felt Blake trembling, and Blake blinked hard, trying to clear the sudden blur from her vision, as if from tears. Maybe they were; she didn’t know, but everything suddenly seemed very, very real, and very, very fragile. 

_How precious it is,_ she thought, _to finally have something worth losing._

Blake’s eyes focused on her in the dark, unmarred and _whole—_ she was alright, thank God. A moment later she had drawn Yang towards her with none of her customary gentleness; she pulled her onto her lap and kissed her fiercely, hands winding into her hair. She could feel the hammering of Yang’s heart with hers, and she felt her cheeks flush. They were in the dorms, she thought, and the others could wake at any second. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, pulling away. “That probably was a lot to take in.” 

Yang looked bewildered, but she traced her fingers down Blake’s cheek, cupping her face. “Is everything— are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?” 

Blake shivered. “Yes,” she said, softly as a whisper in the dark. “I keep having them. Nightmares where I see you, and you die, always watching me with those bright eyes of yours— and I can’t lose you, Yang. I _can’t.”_

Yang looked puzzled— even startled— by her vehemence, and Blake shuddered again, remembering the confusion in Yang’s eyes in the nightmare. “You won’t.” She brought her hand down to Blake’s, twining their hands together. “I promise.”

She fell back, and Yang pulled her close once more, her head tucked in the curve of her shoulder. Yang tucked a strand of Blake’s hair behind her ear, and whispered softly to her. 

“You don’t have anything to be scared of. I’m here.”

Blake took a deep breath, holding Yang’s hand closer, pulling it against her own. “I know.” 

But as she lay in her arms, feeling Yang’s breathing smooth to a low, even rhythm as sleep claimed her, she couldn’t shake the persistent fear that ran circles in her mind: 

_What if it’s too late to turn back from who I was? What if I lose her, too?_

 

* * *

 

**_Yang_ **

 

Sunlight angled in thick gold shafts, laced with shadow, through the window. Yang blinked, yawning, and sat up, before bumping into an unfamiliar warmth on her right. She looked over, saw Blake curled up at her side, and the previous evening flashed back to her mind, filling her with an absurd happiness.

She leaned over. “Blake,” she whispered, “wake up.”

Her eyelids flickered, moving in dreams, and Yang nudged her shoulder harder this time. Blake gasped before her eyes did fly open, two wide rings of gold, before focusing on Yang’s face. Relief flashed through her eyes.

“Hi,” she whispered, feeling prickles of shyness now that it was daylight, now that it felt— real, somehow. More substantial.

Blake reached up and brushed hair from Yang’s eyes with a small smile of her own. “Hey, there.”

“So, last night…” She struggled to come up with something, and, upon failing, took a direct approach. “Not your dream, but— you and me. Are we— a thing now? Because I— I really like you, Blake. I like you a lot. And I know I’m probably rambling right now and it’s annoying and I’m really sorry, I just— I want to make sure we’re on the same page—”

Blake sat up, placing her hands atop Yang’s. “We are on the same page, Yang. It’s not annoying. It’s another thing I like about you. And yes, we are,” she pressed her lips together to hide a smile, “a ‘ _thing_ ’, that is, if you want to be.”

She leaned forward and kissed Blake, a chaste press of her lips to hers. “More than anything. But,” she added, “you have to get up, because much as I would like it _not_ to be, we have stuff to do today. Glynda called an assembly about the upcoming missions for Unity Day, and all that. I could probably pick you up if you don’t hurry.”

“Yang, I have seen you wield a giant speaker with perfect dexterity. Trust me, I have no doubt that, if the whim takes hold of you, that you definitely could pick _me_ up easily as well. That’s not an invitation,” she added hastily. 

“It probably kills you to admit that,” Yang said, but she was fighting back a smile as Blake sat up, fixing her bow with a deft practice. Yang felt a pang of sadness— so many months now, and still, she became distant and unreachable, like a camera losing focus— and there were some things she couldn’t relate to, like Blake’s past, some things she simply could not understand, things that were so knotted and dark it was like a labyrinth, uncrossable, with no way to navigate it. 

“Don’t be sad for me, Yang. Please.” Blake padded over to her with soundless grace, and Yang smiled slightly at her. “Last night was just… a bad dream. That’s all.” 

“How did you know?”

“I just felt it.”

She kissed Blake’s cheek. “Bad dreams or not, Blake, I’m always here for you.”

Blake didn’t smile, but the edge of her mouth lifted just enough to let her know that she wasn’t upset. “And I, you.”

“You know,” a new voice yawned from behind them, “I didn’t really believe it was possible for you two to grow even more sentimental and soppy, but lo and behold, it would seem I was mistaken.” Yang spun around to see Weiss blinking at them, a faint smirk playing on her mouth.

“You could say that, ice-queen. She’s growing on me,” Yang said agreeably, “like a disease, or a tumor.” 

In unison, Weiss’s and Blake’s eyes narrowed at her, two terrifying sapphire and gold barbs of female rage. Yang swallowed. 

“Okay, maybe not.” 

 

* * *

 

“Remember that your missions start in a week’s time! Tomorrow, you will be assigned a reconnaissance mission in Vale to ascertain where it is you want to take your skills. Be sure to pay attention, and to choose _wisely,_ because second options are unlikely, both here, and in your future endeavours _.”_ Glynda’s last words were drowned out by the tolling of the bell announcing the end of class, and she rolled green eyes in clear defeat as a wave of students surged towards the doors. “This assembly is dismissed!”

The team congregated behind the cover of a pillar as the room slowly emptied. “So I think we all know where we want to go for _our_ mission,” Blake said softly, but she leaned over, hooking her little finger through Yang’s. She smiled at the little gesture. “I think Mountain Glenn is the most likely place to search for criminal activity. It’s perfectly obvious. The White Fang could operate there in total solitude; it’s absolutely abandoned, and nobody ever goes there. _And_ it’s where Sun and I heard Torchwick talking about sending more White Fang members. It’s probably the only opportunity we will have to investigate further into just what the hell kind of a long game Torchwick is playing, and I think not exploiting that opportunity would be ignorant.”

“Well, yes, Blake, if you want to make it sound so _plain_ and woebegone, I believe—”

“It’s just a fact, Weiss. I just don’t believe we’ll find much heroic opportune in the ruins of a failure, especially a place like Mountain Glenn— it’s crawling with Grimm and now misguided Faunus with penchants to murder; we’ll have our work cut out for us trying to give the slip on whatever Huntsman that’ll be overseeing us—”

“We _have_ to go there,” Ruby said firmly, cutting off both of their arguments with no room for protest. “Firstly. And we have to do it without making anyone suspicious.”

“Arousing their ire,” Blake said, “would be a grave error, indeed.”

Yang rolled her eyes. “Must you speak like a thesaurus?”

“Must you be consistently rude?”

“ _Guys,”_ Ruby said, but she was grinning. “These plans aren’t gonna amount to much if we don’t get out of here and get some sleep so we can board the airships to the reconnaissance missions _without_ being exhausted, will they?”

Yang said an unladylike word, and the others sighed in unison as they all followed her, leaving the hall.


	22. Chapter XXI - Fire Tries Gold

“Remember that we’re keeping our eyes peeled for weird behavior and trying to keep an ear open for any last information.”

“Yes, we know. It’s not like we’re all perfectly aware you’ve said it _five times.”_

 _“_ Sheesh, Weiss. Someone’s grumpy…”

“Just tired. Come on, then, let’s go get breakfast. It’s not like there’s anything better to do…” 

Yang watched sleepily as Weiss and Ruby left, and she roused herself, withdrawing her hand from where it was wrapped around the curve of Blake’s hipbone. “ _Blake,_ ” she whispered into the shell of her girlfriend’s ear. “Blake, wake up.”

She stirred. “Mm, your timing is unfortunate,” she yawned as she pressed herself closer to Yang, her voice still thick with sleep. “I was having a nice dream, for once.”

“Yeah? What about?”

Blake turned over, regarding her with ever-enthralling amber eyes, clouded with recall, as if weighing her words and their measure. “You,” she said finally. “You and me.”

Yang leaned down and pressed her lips to the curve of her jaw where it slanted away to meet her ear, and Blake made a noise low in her throat, eyes half closing. “I’m happy to hear that,” she whispered, breath fluttering against her cheek.

Blake pulled her down against her, hands knotting in the thin material of her tank. Yang froze before allowing herself to get lost in the feeling of Blake’s lips against her, of her hands cupping her face.

She lost track of the time, of how long they lay there, simply enjoying the last moments of peace they would have for a while, as the sun slanted further into the room, lighting Blake’s face to soft and light and gold. She traced the outline of Blake’s mouth, almost wonderingly, and her partner ducked her head, hair falling in lustrous tumbles of darkness over her skin, all pallor and shadow. But then Blake looked at her, looked at her the way she might have looked at the stars on a particularly clear summer’s night, as if she were the only light in the sky.

“You are beautiful,” Blake whispered.

A bubble of happiness swelled to the top of Yang’s chest, buoyant and light. She leaned in to kiss Blake; her hands traveled up along the hard, flat ridges of Blake’s muscles along her stomach, the scars that marked the life of a Huntress. Perhaps others would regard them as flaws, imperfections, but Yang saw them as a story, a map telling of Blake’s character, and they were as much a part of her as her heart and soul.

Blake pulled away, her eyes more shadowed than amber, a deep, rich gold darkened with desire, before she leaned back again, mouth slanting over Yang’s. The kiss changed, then, turning from something soft and chaste to a wilder and fiercer union, and Yang’s hands found Blake’s jaw, thumbs resting against the slant where it curved away to her ear. Blake pulled away for a moment, breathless, before she kissed her again, fiercer this time, her hands knotting in Yang’s hair—

They broke apart as a startled yelp broke the silence. “WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?” There was the din of clattering metal, and they both sat up to see Weiss glaring at them. She had dropped her rapier, and it rolled away under the bed. “WHY CAN’T YOU GO ELSEWHERE TO DO THESE HORRIBLE THINGS? MY EYES.”

“There’s nowhere _to_ go,” Blake pointed out, fixing her bow from where Yang had knocked it astray. She was seemingly completely unruffled, which was nothing short of annoying. 

“And you said I should keep the door shut, which it _was_ —” Yang began, before she realized this was not a productive line of conversation, and shut up.

Weiss glared at them like they had punched her grandmother in the face before Ruby came in after her. She was snickering quietly to herself at the look of abject horror on Weiss’s face.

“I am SCARRED for LIFE,” Weiss declared, before swinging her rapier up from the floor and exiting with a flourishing slam of the door.

“Oh no,” Yang said. “Blake? I think we’ve really upset the ice-queen. Should I send her a basket of apologies that say, like, _‘I’m sorry, except not really’,_ and rainbows, to, you know—”

“Yes, do,” Blake said. “I’m sure she would appreciate that. About as much as one would appreciate being dropkicked in the face.”

“Well,” Ruby said apologetically, cutting short Yang’s retort, “she was raised in a really PDA-no-no life, you know, so if you could cut down on the, er, handsy—feely stuff—” 

“Is that what you call it? _Handsy—feely stuff?”_ Yang demanded indignantly, but she crawled off of Blake, who gave a theatrical sigh and picked up her book with a practiced ease. 

Ruby shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, you’re worse than Mom and Dad were, and that’s hard to top.” 

Yang threw a pillow at her sister, grinning, and Ruby swiftly dodged it as it smacked the wall behind her. “Get out, you.” 

Ruby stuck her tongue out at Yang, before she departed with a call of, “We’ll be back in an hour, so keep an eye on the clock unless you want a repeat of ‘ice-queen central’!”

Blake stretched out on the bed with a yawn. “Who would have thought that they once couldn’t stand being within ten feet of each other?” 

“You could say the same for us,” Yang said, curling up closer to her, “though ten feet is a bit of a stretch. I’m glad things turned out this way.”

Blake kissed the top of her head, eyes softening. “Me, too.” 

 

* * *

 

“Ninety-nine Ursai in the forest of Emerald, ninety-nine Ursai in the forest of Emerald; take one down and chop off its head, ninety-eight Ursai in the forest of Emerald—”

“Nora, for the love of God,” Yang said, “shut up, will you? Look, I mean, Jaune is starting to go all funny and green from your inventive lyrics of _ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall,_ and a Nora with alcohol in her system is a _terrifying_ prospect—”

Blake laughed as Jaune shook his head mutely, waving a hand at Nora. “I’m fine, really. Please, do continue with whatever fascinating thing you were singing.” 

Nora grinned innocently, but stopped warbling as Ren touched her arm lightly. 

“Any ideas of where you four are going?” Pyrrha asked as the airship hummed loudly, rising into the air, the school falling away to a patchwork of gray and rich blues beneath them. “Missions. I can scarcely believe it. Goodness, how the year has flown.” 

Yang took Blake’s hand with a slight smile. “Well, that’s _one_ way to put it.” She drew herself closer to Blake as she felt a pang of warm affection sweep through the Bond, wondering if Blake could feel her own love, too. 

“We were thinking of applying to go on a mission outside the kingdoms, so we could get some hands-on experience of the ‘big bad world’,” Ruby said earnestly, completely concealing the darker double of their plans. “It’s a great chance to learn more! And it’s more fun, too.” 

Pyrrha’s eyebrows arched at that. “Interesting. And unexpected, as well. I would have thought you might have wanted to work inside the kingdom, truthfully.” 

“Why is that?” Weiss had been looking out the window in boredom, but she looked over at Pyrrha in surprise. 

“Why, because of the events that have transpired recently,” Pyrrha said, clearly confused. The four of them all exchanged glances in worry, before she elaborated. “Pardon, you four. I only mean that Grimm activity is higher than it has ever been, and it was only recently that you were injured, Blake, fighting a criminal himself. Peace, for you, might seem like a welcome change of pace, as well as familiarity. ”

Blake gave an elegant shrug. “Safety isn’t a part of this kind of life, now or ever. We all know that. Plus, I— _we_ — trust Ozpin and the Council to handle the lawbreakers and malcontent,” she said, lying between her teeth. Only the tightening of her hand on Yang’s hinted that she didn’t believe it at all. “Besides. Ruby is right. It _is_ wise to go out of the kingdom and get firsthand experience. There is no progress remaining under the same roof day after day.”

_Such a convincing liar,_ Yang thought with a frown. _If I didn’t know better, I’d believe her, that we have completely transparent intentions…_

“We’re patrolling the borders of Vale,” Nora chirped, evidently oblivious to the tension, thin as a thread, tautening between the other team. “It’s no trip to a pancake house, but it’s gonna be pretty cool all the same, don’t you think?” 

“Are we really doing the right thing, to chase after danger this way?” Blake whispered as the others devolved into idle conversation. The warmth from Blake’s end of Bond had been replaced by a cold, weighing dread— and fear. “I mean— I don’t _know,_ Yang. Perhaps…” 

“We are, Blake,” she said, trying to maintain her own surety. “We’ve got to believe that.” 

“But it feels so… so paradoxical. I’ve spent so much time attempting to disassociate myself with the White Fang, to _forget,_ but my past is like my shadow, always following me, coloring everything I do. Here we are, drawn back into their schemes, _willingly_ pursuing them. It’s like we’re just chess pieces, all being pulled to the same pitiful end. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever really be able to let that kind of conditioning go. They say you never forget your roots.” Her face was drawn with desperation, blue shadows under her eyes. “So… maybe I’m bound forever.” 

Blake detached her hand, looking out the frosted window; her blurred, faint reflection stared back at her, overlapped with the real world outside the safe walls. Yang could see the tiredness in her eyes, the drained look of someone once defeated, now unsure of whether they could weather another challenge. “I have told you before,” she said quietly, so quietly it was difficult to hear her over the loud chatter, “that I once did not know who I was. I always know who I am, where I belong, when I am with you. But some days, it seems like even that bit of clarity is fading.”

“You’re better than that,” Yang insisted. “It’s not just me having this— I don’t know, Blake. I’m not just grabbing at straws and holding blindly onto a stupid belief in you being unfailingly good. I know that no one is totally pure. People change and morals change, too, but it’s different with you; I _know_ who you are. And _that’s_ who I love. You aren’t the monster Adam or Ayran tried to turn you into, Blake. I’m sure of that, at least.”

Blake looked a little more relieved, her eyelids closing slightly, her long eyelashes casting spidery shadows down on her cheeks. She looked back out the window, both of them little more than smudges of color of the opposite spectrums: shadow and spark. “Then,” she said softly, “Perhaps, I suppose I must try to have faith in _you_.” 

 

* * *

 

They landed at the spherical landing pad in the very outskirts of downtown Vale, near the wild forests of Forever Fall and onward, both them and team JNPR pouring out. This was only a practice run, a precursor to their _real_ mission, but it had an air of solemnity and a suppressed, high thrill, all the same. It was a passage from in-training to seeing the real thing.

They departed from the ship, clustering together at the corner of a Dust store and a restaurant. No sooner had they paused in their steps then when a little girl, no older than seven, ran up to them, panting slightly. 

“You’re all Huntresses, right?” Her eyes were huge with wonder and adoration, but she stood firmly as they all towered over her.

“Huntresses-to-be,” Blake corrected her, looking at the little girl with curiosity. “We’re still in training at Beacon Academy.”

“That’s so _cool!”_ She raised her chin defiantly, her hair coming loose from its tousled pigtails. “My papa says that being a Huntress is dangerous. But I told him that I don’t care. Huntresses are the _best_! I want to be just like you guys when I grow up, protecting the world from big bad monsters.”

“Maybe you will. You should probably get back to your family, though, kiddo. Maybe we’ll see you around someday at Beacon.” Yang smiled at her, and she grinned, showing a gap-tooth smile before she turned and ran off, back to a man who must have been her father. _Reminds me of Tai, Ruby, and me when we were younger,_ Yang thought with a faintly wistful smile, before turning back to her team and stretching her arms out in a _‘what-can-you-do?’_ gesture. “Well, gang, looks like we’ve already got admirers.”

“So it would seem,” Blake said, scuffing the ground with her boot.

“She seemed familiar,” Yang said. “Really familiar.”

“Now that you mention it,” Blake said thoughtfully, “She did seem a bit like you, Yang. With the obstinacy and relentless pursuance, she might as well have been your doppelgänger.”

“I don’t think so,” Yang said. “I think she reminded me of _you.”_

“Because I’m tiny, brunette, and look good in pigtails?”

Yang laughed, nudging Blake’s shoulder with her own. “Haha, very funny, kitten. No, she was determined. Stubborn, little, and wanted to get into more things than she could handle.”

“Three of those things still apply,” Ruby chirped, and Blake rolled her eyes.

“Dunno, Rubes. It technically _is_ four applicable things. Blake’s still kinda little.”

“I,” Blake said furiously, “am the _same height_ as you, Yang.”

“Only with the ears. Without them, I’ve got about two inches on you.” She winked at Blake, who looked exasperated, pressing her hand to her face as if she had suddenly, inexplicably, developed a painful headache.

“Why this?” she muttered in sepulchral tones. Ruby made a gagging noise.

“Stop flirting like middle-schoolers and hurry up, you guys— we still have to get to our points of meet-up—”

“But,” Yang said, drawing away and following her sister, “she makes it so easy to do.”

“ _YANG_.”

“All right, all right,” Yang said, hurrying to catch up with them as they entered the great shadowy stripes of the trees. “Great Nevermore, you’re hard to tease, Rubes. I think Weiss is rubbing off on you.”

Weiss drew her rapier and Yang’s eyes widened in mock-alarm. “Woah there, Weiss, don't run me through with that. I didn’t think what I said was that offensive, but…”

“No, you idiot. We need to be in top form. There’s Grimm around,” she said, and as if hearing her, a long, mournful howl echoed from the trees.

“I’m thinking that’s a Beowolf,” Yang said. “Easy.”

“At least it’s not a Goliath. Or a Griffon. Those fall under the category of ‘annoyingly difficult’.” 

“They also,” Yang said, “fall under the category of ‘disgustingly ugly’ — almost as ugly as the state of Ruby’s bedroom back at Patch.”

“ _Hey!”_

 

* * *

 

**_Blake_ **

After four hours of trekking through forest, killing Grimm, stopping for rests, formulating plans, and discussing who— or _what—_ they might find in Mountain Glenn, Blake was thoroughly exhausted.

Yang had been right, probably. Her abandonment of the White Fang spoke more good about her than it did weakness. But it didn’t change the fact that fear lived inside of her, as alive and cold as winter; perhaps, in all senses of the word, it was the right thing to do. A Huntress would stop at nothing to crush the plans of evildoers. A Huntress would not shy away from the prospect of facing a past danger. But Blake knew she wasn’t brave, and she could not stop seeing scarred eyes and his dark smile, because if she saw Adam again, she _knew_ she would be too weak to do what needed to be done.

Khione’s cold voice rang in her mind.  _Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; a vice sometime by action dignified._

Twelve years ago, Julian had ceded the leadership to Ayran - or so they said-;  twelve years ago, she’d been plunged into darkness; twelve years ago, she might have thought it all would turn out all right, in the end. But that wasn’t true. She had been duped; it felt like the punchline to some cruel cosmic joke.

He had used her and discarded her like a chess piece— used her, and Adam. Perhaps Ayran had been moral once, but it had been burnt out of him. She knew he had never regarded either of them as _people,_ with their own souls. Adam he had used to keep the Faunus in line. Herself, she had been used as his own personal amusement, the daughter of his victims, blind in all ways but sight.

She sank her blade viciously into the spine of a Beowolf, hearing its dying gurgle, black blood fountaining up from the sword. It folded in on itself, shimmering and vanishing into dust, until that, too, vanished.

“Blake?” Yang asked worriedly, and Blake cursed as she remembered that whatever she felt, Yang felt too, through the Bond; her anger and bitterness and hatred.

She wiped her blade and heaved a deep breath. “I’m alright,” she said softly, afraid that, if she ceased to say it for even a moment, she would drown in all the reasons that she was not.


	23. Chapter XXII - Easy is the Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where everything falls apart.

**A/N -  
So there is a new update schedule, as I mentioned last chapter**: Instead of releasing one chapter every Sunday, now, I’ll release a chapter every _Tuesday, Friday,_ and _Sunday._  I didn’t want to do this, but I have to if I’m to finish this on time. The only thing I can foresee is getting fewer comments… but you guys will keep up, right?

I would like to get this fic done and totally released before May 17th, pretty much, so I’ll have to get going quickly to get it completely done.

So, for your information: during my summer break, which is averaging about _May 19th to August 15th,_ I’ll use that time to plan and write the sequel, and relax. There will be a hiatus during that time, so don’t expect anything (Except, perhaps, oneshots or something similar.)

I’m trying to get a jumpstart on everything for the sequel. This consists of ironing out the plot, writing chapters, drafting chapters ahead, getting dialogue written down, figuring out what I want to change and what I want to keep from canon. That’s my planning process. I won’t have a laptop during that time (May 19th to August 15th), so all my planning and writing will be done on my phone. Is that difficult for me? Yes, but I’ll power through. That just means the release of the sequel will be a bit later than I’d like it to be. I’ll release it sometime around when I get back in school and get a laptop back.

If you have any questions, please please _PLEASE!_ Leave them in your comments. I’d be more than happy to answer any questions you have. And, as always, thank YOU for sticking with me on this long, twisting ride. To those I can list off the top of my head, thank you to tylerturner, leztiger, A, SnoogenZ, AkiraWolf21, dreamer3life, InfernoLeo9, Tom, and all other who have continued to give your support. Even if I didn't mention you, _thank you,_ from the bottom of my heart. It means the world to me.

Here is the new update schedule, in case you’re confused!

  * _Chapter 23— to be released **April 19th**_
  * _Chapter 24— to be released **April 22nd**_
  * _Chapter 25— to be released **April 24th**_
  * _Chapter 26— to be released **April 26th**_
  * _Chapter 27— to be released **April 29th**_
  * _Chapter 28— to be released **May 1st**_
  * _Chapter 29— to be released **May 3rd**_
  * _Chapter 30— to be released **May 6th**_
  * _Chapter 31— to be released **May 8th**_
  * _Chapter 32— to be released **May 10th**_
  * _Epilogue— to be released **May 13th**_



(and please do try to keep up the comments and review each chapter, because they make the writing worth it, and I would hate to see them dwindle with the new schedule. <33) Now, onto the angst! 

 

* * *

 

_**Yang** _

 

Yang was shaken awake by Ruby.

The first thing she noticed was that her bed was empty; Blake was nowhere to be seen. Yang flitted through the Bond— she was out in Vale with Sun and his team, showing them around the city. Yang grinned. _Oh, I bet that’s gonna be boring._

“Why did you w-w-wake me up?” She asked, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. “It’s only—” she checked her Scroll- “Noon. That’s, like, not acceptable at all.”

“Let’s get breakfast,” Ruby suggested. “We haven’t really gotten to, you know, just sit and relax in a while. Plus, Yang,” and here, Ruby’s eyes twinkled, “I’m sure you have all sorts of juicy gossip for us ever since you combined the ‘B’ and ‘Y’ of us.” She nudged Weiss, who rolled her eyes. “Come on, Weiss, you _know_ you’re interested, I _know_ it—”

“This behavior should _not_ be condoned, Ruby. Gossiping is morally deficient, and—”

“Shh. Do you hear that, Weiss? _Do_ you? That’s the sound of your consciousness being clear of guilt. Come on, let’s go.”

The walk to the cafeteria was a short one, the muted hue of autumn blazing through the high windows; they went through the line quickly, finding a table near the corner of the cafeteria. Yang caught snatches of laughter and talk as they took their seats, and she rolled her sore muscles, wincing at a particularly painful scratch an Ursa had managed to claw on her forearm.

“So,” Ruby said, her eyes dancing as she speared a fluffy pancake on the prongs of her fork, “spill, dear sister, about you and your girlfriend and how that all went down.”

Yang drummed her fingers on the edge of the table, still getting a strangle little tingle that made a grin tug at her mouth. _Girlfriend, she’s my girlfriend—_ “It started, really, with the Bond,” she said. “After the fight with our favorite ‘ginger-haired mafia jerk’, so to speak.”

“Well, then, start there.” 

“You guys are my teammates and best friends,” she began, leveling a finger at the two of them. “So basic best friends rules apply here.” 

“Not a word to anyone else,” Weiss said, rolling her eyes as she picked up her coffee, though she was smiling. “Obviously.” 

“Duh!” Ruby followed up, bouncing off her seat. “Come on!” 

Laughing, Yang took a deep breath and started with the infirmary, where she’d talked to Blake about the fight against the Paladin. She decided to skip the part about Blake’s quietude re-emerging once more after they had begun dating— that part, at least, was still new and fresh to her, and she felt disconcerted about being the one to broach it first— and she illustrated the things she had seen in the memory-sharing of the Bond, finally ending with the last images she had seen when they had Bonded. By then, Ruby’s expression had dimmed significantly, and Weiss was frowning worriedly into her cup. 

“That’s— horrible,” Weiss finally offered, staring into the swirling darkness of her coffee. “Her former partner sounds like… I don’t even know. A megalomaniacal control-freak, certainly.” 

“She’s definitely got some… issues about that,” Yang said with a nod. “But it’s not her fault, not really. Something like that can really mess with your head.” 

“Poor Blake,” Ruby said. “I just want to make her a cake or something. Hug her. Buy her a puppy— oh, wait, no, she doesn’t like dogs.” 

Panic seized Yang’s throat. “Oh, no,” she breathed, looking between Weiss and Ruby with wide, frightened eyes. “No, no, you can’t tell her I told you any of this— _shoot!”_ She gripped her gauntlets, fingers whitening. How could it not have occurred to her until now that Blake probably didn’t want something like that spreading around? It was supposed to be private. Hell, _she_ had only just learned about it, and what had Blake said about trusting and how Yang had been different from Adam and opening up and oh, God, what if she’d just ruined _everything_ and— 

“We’re not going to say anything, Yang,” Weiss assured her, hand resting on her arm. “We’re your teammates and Ruby’s your sister. It’s okay to tell us.” 

“But she’s my _girlfriend,”_ Yang groaned, forehead falling to the table. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have kept it to myself. She trusts me and I totally just violated that!” 

“Yang,” Ruby said, sliding to her side of the table and wrapping a comforting arm around her. “We won’t say anything, but maybe you could just— tell her now and say you’re sorry. Maybe she won’t be mad at all.” 

Yang’s eyes clenched shut. She imagined the betrayal and hurt on Blake’s face if she told her she’d just shared something personal to their teammates, just because she felt like had been okay to tell them. Wasn’t she supposed to be the _opposite_ of Adam? She trusted Weiss and Ruby more than anything, but that didn’t mean she had any right to go on spreading stuff like that. Especially when she knew how seriously Blake took that kind of thing. “ _Damn,”_ she said, opening her eyes and sitting up. Her gaze fell upon the thin silver line that the fire of the Bond had burned into her skin all those weeks ago. Running a finger along the mark, Yang thought about how Blake had literally given her her heart and trusted her with it. 

She couldn’t know. She shouldn’t know, and from there on out, Yang resolved not to share anything Blake told her. As her girlfriend, that was her responsibility, despite her friendship with Weiss and Ruby. She’d made a mistake this time, but she could fix it by never doing it again, right? What Blake didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. 

Even thinking it made guilt like lead pool in Yang’s gut. Sighing, she shook her head and spread her hands on the table. “Not a word to Blake, okay? And if I ever start babbling about her like that again, hit me with something.” 

“Literally?” Ruby asks. 

“Yes.” 

The three of them sank into more casual conversation then, but Yang’s eyes kept coming back to the scar of the Bond; Blake’s heart was precious and fragile. She knew she couldn’t afford to be careless. It was bad enough that Blake’s childhood had been the embodiment of living hell and that Yang was putting her entire way of trust and going about life in jeopardy. Her heart was the most special thing she had to offer, and she had somehow decided Yang was worthy of holding it. 

She couldn’t risk breaking it.

* * *

 

**_Blake_ **

Starlight filtered, sure and silver, through the library windows as Blake folded back the page of her book and closed it gently. On a Saturday night, the library was crammed with more students than usual, ranging from desperately trying to catch up on their studies, to playing board games, to having intense debates about who would win in a fight: Professor Ozpin, or a Maiden from the old children’s fable about the seasons. 

“Don’t be a wanker, Talos. Ozpin would _totally_ win,” a girl from an upperclassmen team scoffed at her teammate, drumming her fingers along the thin electrum whip that served as her weapon. “He has the badass look— like Kalona from _Ninjas of Love,_ ya know?” 

The taller teammate, Talos, made a trenchant point. “But Kalona isn’t real.” 

The girl rolled her eyes. “And neither are the Maidens, you dumbass _._ Have you ever actually seen one?” 

A small smile plucking at her lips, Blake rummaged in her book bag, shoving a timeworn novel inside, before rising and shouldering her way through the rowdy team to exit the library. As she closed the door behind her, she was in the midst of sending Yang a text that read _where are you? I miss seeing your face interrupt me when I’m in the middle of reading,_ when a force greater than gravity slammed her against the door so hard, it felt like the entire wall rattled. 

“Hi, Blake!” 

Ruby was clinging to her with enough pressure to squeeze her lungs out of her throat. Grunting, Blake wedged her elbow under Ruby’s ribs to try and pry her off, but she was either really great at ignoring pain, or had gotten used to Blake trying to wiggle free. For a girl so young, she had amazing upper body strength. And unfortunately— or fortunately, however you viewed it— since Yang and Blake had begun dating, she’d been effectively shepherded into another ‘older-sister’ role for the team leader.

Effectively pinned, Blake sighed. “Hello, Ruby.” Her Scroll vibrated, and with much twisting on her part, she managed to make out Yang’s replied text: 

_i’m about to come down to the library. weiss would NOT stop nagging me to clean up my side of the dorm and to stop calling her ‘ice-queen’, so i’m a little late. be there soon!_

She smiled, probably dreamily, even dorkily, at her Scroll as she returned her attention to Ruby and fought once more in vain to free herself. “Unless you plan to sew yourself to my body, Ruby, please, let go of me.” 

Giggling, she finally detached herself and stepped back, hands curling around the ruffles at her waist. “Wouldn’t that be so much fun, to be with someone all time? You could do everything to together! You’d always have someone to steal cookies with or do crazy adventures with.” 

“Well,” Blake said begrudgingly, turning as she started walking, “I’d rather be sewn to you then to Weiss.”

Ruby thrust her fist into the air above her. “Yay! We could be like second partners, Blake, we could—” Her flapping jaw suddenly stilled, then clicked shut. “Uhm, never mind.” 

Blake knew peculiar behavior wasn’t exactly unusual for Ruby, but she looked almost— scared. Perking an eyebrow at her, Blake slowed her pace to a sedate walk. “You okay?” 

Ruby’s nod was so enthusiastic, Blake feared her neck might snap. “Uh, yeah! Never mind.” 

“Never mind about what? Us being second partners? You’ve talked about stranger things, Ruby.” 

“Oh, I know. I just— didn’t want to make you feel bad.” Ruby’s fingertips hovered over her mouth. 

“Feel bad?” Blake frowned at her. “About what?”

Ruby fidgeted. Looked over her shoulder, her hands. “Because— you had another partner. Once. Before Beacon. I thought—” 

“Stop.” Blake held up a hand, and narrowed her eyes at Ruby, a strange, empty ringing in her head. “Where did you hear that?” 

What remaining color there was in Ruby’s face drained, fear and anxiety warring in her eyes. “I thought Yang talked to you about it already… she, uhm, she told me and Weiss, but we’re her teammates and I’m her sister, and we’re _your_ friends, and I thought, I didn’t mean—”

_“What else has she told you?”_ Blake’s words gritted their way through clenched teeth. 

Ruby was saved by coincidence, literally, as the door banged open and the team arguing about Ozpin burst out, Talos looking thoroughly defeated as the rest of his team began laughing and chattering loudly; Ruby jumped and then she was off, shouting something about seeing Blake later, but her words didn’t register through the heavy pounding in Blake’s ears. Screwing her lips together, she slammed the door shut and stalked off down the hallway. Even if it was a normal day, people tended to get out of her way; there was a slant in her step, some stiffness that emanated from her to warn them off. But today, students roaming the halls jumped out of her way like she was poison. Maybe she was; maybe she should have expected it. 

Yang had told them, knowing what a fragile thing trust was. She told them when she knew how much it meant. She told them, and shattered something— no, _everything_. 

But then again, wasn’t that the _paradox_ of it all? Yang was so unfaltering, so unfailingly and intrinsically _perfect_. It was inherent of Blake to be undeserving of that light without it flickering somehow; Yang was the sky, and Blake  was the black water lake where people went to drown; she was fifty stones in each pocket and breeze-blocks strapped to broken ankles.

She didn’t want Yang to be another Adam. She wanted her to be _Yang,_ who couldn’t do anything wrong. She wanted a perfect angel, not a human who had the ability to cause pain.  
  


 

* * *

 

_**Yang** _

Yang clattered down the stairs, shoving her Scroll in her pocket. Blake had not replied to her message asking where she was; she’d have to find her on her own. More likely than not, she was engrossed in a novel, completely dead to the world. 

Yang entered another hallway, swerving out of the way of a team bouncing through the halls as went, and behind them, she could see a figure retreating into the distance, a dark figure with a swift gait. Yang grinned.

“Blake!” she called out after her girlfriend. 

Blake kept walking, her pace tightly controlled. She didn’t turn as Yang called after her, though a roaring feeling of bitter disappointment, tinged with a raw fury, swept through the Bond, and Yang’s eyes widened, her next call dying in her throat, grin dropping from her face. _What the hell?_

She jogged after Blake, putting a hand on her shoulder and spinning her around. Blake didn’t move to resist her back, but she jerked away violently like she had been burned, putting distance between them like she was a poisonous cobra. Her partner’s face was drawn with anger, eyes seething with it, her pupils pinpricks of flickering fire in all that gold. She looked coldly at Yang’s outstretched hand. “What do you want, Yang?” she growled, sounding very un-Blake-like. 

“Blake—” She took a step toward her girlfriend, and for the first time that she remembered, Blake moved away from her. Her posture was stiff and unfriendly. She was looking at Yang the way she’d look at a stranger, a stranger she didn’t like very much.

“ _You told them_ ,” hissed Blake lowly, eyes glittering at Yang, hard and remote as jewels, every syllable trembling with rage. “You went and spilled stuff about Adam and the White Fang—God knows what else, things I _trusted_ you with, like my parents and Ayran—”

Yang’s heart dropped somewhere to her feet. She felt lower than the dirt. “I— I thought—”

“Did you _think_? I don’t believe you did. _I_ thought you weren’t like this, Yang, that I could trust you of everyone. I believed in that, I gave you time and you proved it too— that you were _trustworthy—”_

“That’s not how love works, Blake,” Yang snapped, instantly on the defensive. “You don’t just put people on a timer.” 

“It’s not — I should have expected more from you,” Blake snapped right back. “I went into this — into _us_ — telling you that I might need time to open up, Yang. That there were things I didn’t want to talk about, and when I did, I wanted them to only be between us. I don’t tell you things for you to just spout them out to Ruby and Weiss and— and who knows else, but that doesn’t matter! I trusted you, and there’s a reason I didn’t tell them, I don’t want them to _know._ Maybe I had doubts, even before I chose you, but I took a chance and trusted you anyways and I—“

“And you _what?”_ Yang’s voice rose. “If you had known, you would have done things differently? Never come up to me in the forest, and even if you did—maybe never opened up to me, is that it? Would you have just stayed away the whole time, maybe met Sun, moved to Mistral with him, get married, popped out a few kids and moved on?” She stared at Blake, whose eyes were swirling with so many emotions it looked like a hurricanes. Her voice shook with disbelief and sorrow. “Is that what you _want?”_

Blake looked down and away. Her eyes glistened, and a spear of agony went through Yang. “Maybe I don’t know what I want anymore.” 

Yang’s heart gave a loud, slow thump in her chest, distinct in her ears. “What does _that_ mean?”

“When I say I trust you,” Blake said quietly, “I meant it. I mean it. I do. And I _want_ to trust you.” Her voice was full of pain. “I trusted someone before and it turned me into a monster. You can’t _be_ that way, Yang. You just— you just _can’t!_ You’re supposed to be different. Trusting people isn’t my forte, and I took a leap with you and you turn around and babble it to _them—”_

“They’re my _teammates!”_ Yang shouted. “It wasn’t like I told strangers. I haven’t done it since and I won’t do it again and I’m sorry. What more do you want me to do to make it up to you?” 

Blake stared at her, and Yang stared back, a dull ringing in her head. For the first time, they were fighting. Fighting like her and Adam had used to fight. No, Yang told herself, it was supposed to be different with them, it was supposed to be amazing and awesome and not difficult. But here they were. For the first time, Yang felt the Bond shiver and _shake,_ a roaring wave of anger and shame and terror swirling through it. 

“I want you to be different than this!” Blake shouted right back, her voice rising to match Yang’s. “Maybe I want you to be perfect, because if you’re not, then how can I even hope to spend forever with you? With _anyone?_ I’ve got enough flaws to cover everyone in this entire school, Yang. You have to pick up the slack on my end because I can’t _,_ I _can’t.”_

“You want perfect, Blake?” Yang shot back. “To hell with that! I can’t give you perfection. I’m _not_ perfect. I can hurt you like you’ve hurt me. But does that mean you don’t try to work it out anyways? No!” 

“This isn’t how things are supposed to happen!”

_“This isn’t a fairy tale, Blake!_ This is real life, whether you like it or not! Bad things _happen_. People are hurt and killed, and close ones abandon you, and sisters ignore their sisters and mothers leave children or— or _die_ , and sometimes the monsters win, and and people who are supposed to love each other fight, but you move on, dammit! There’s nothing else to do besides give up!”

“Maybe I’m not strong enough for that,” she whispered, voice almost inaudible, shaking so bad that Yang could hardly make out the words. “Maybe I’ve been left to pick up the pieces time and time again, I just can’t do it anymore, I can’t. You weren’t supposed to be like Adam.” 

Some distant part of Yang wanted to shut down, to disregard that Blake, _her_ Blake, the one who was entirely different behind closed doors, could say these things: but her heart was aware that this, right now, was really happening. 

“I’m _sorry,”_ Yang whispered, but Blake was backing away, crying now and not hiding it, tears running down her cheeks. “I knew you could lose everything with me, but I thought—”

“Don’t you _get_ it, Yang?” She looked as if she were about to break, to shatter all over the stones. “You _are_ my everything!” 

She stared at her, struck silent, and as she didn’t reply, something in Blake’s eyes went dark and closed, tears jumping from her cheek to trail down her jaw, glimmering like fallen stars. “I need to be alone, Yang. I need time to think about what I really want. Please… don’t follow me.” 

Then she turned and disappeared into the night.  


 

 

* * *

 

 

Yang stood there, numbness seeping through her body, before her body was walking, her feet moving like an automan, carrying her out of the courtyard. _Maybe I don’t know what I want. Maybe I don’t. Maybe. Maybe._

She found herself walking blind through the halls, eyes blurred as if from sand or salt spray, to the side of campus housing the out-of-kingdom students. Up a flight of stairs. Through a twisting hall. To a door shaking with music.

She knocked, hearing a shout and the music crank down to a low thrum, before a familiar, tousled-blond head poked out. Upon seeing her, his face flooded with relief, and he opened it further. “Hey, Yang. Thought you were Goodwitch, there, for a second.” 

“No,” she managed to croak. 

“So, uh… what’s up?” Sun scratched his head, his eyes growing more serious, perhaps at the look of stunned fear in her eyes. “Why did you come down here? Are you okay?” 

“I want a drink,” she said, surprised to find it was true. “And I want to talk to you.” 

“Okay,” he said, look faintly baffled at her haggard expression, though he didn’t ask questions, for which she was grateful. “Let’s go out for drinks like agreeable people, because nobody eavesdrops at a bar, and also because I could stand for a nice drink right now. _Nep!_ ” he yelled over his shoulder into the dorm room, which was pulsing with heavy rock music. “Make sure Sage and Scar don’t get into another argument about whether _‘wanker’_ or _‘blockhead’_ is the better insult, okay? You don’t want Goodwitch dropping by to scold you, do you?” 

“Screw you, monkey-boy!” Neptune yelled back from the interior, his voice faintly muffled, as if he was speaking around a mouthful of food. “You’re a dumbass if you think I’m prying them off each other again! I almost had my hair ripped out last time, and it’s not my fault Sage has an eight-pack, it’s not fair!”

Sun rolled his eyes and grinned, shutting the door, dulling the music to a low throb. “Idiots,” he said fondly. “Okay, let’s go.”  
  
  


* * *

 

They found themselves at a small, well-kept bar in Vale. It was lit dimly, with Dust crystals installed in the walls, creating colorful patterns. It wasn’t anything like the Black Sol in terms of loud noise, but it would do— Yang couldn’t really keep her thoughts together enough to fret about anything other than the dread churning through her. 

They sat at a far corner, Sun taking a seat that was closer to a scary-looking Hunstman, as if to protect her. Maybe yesterday she would have yelled at him for it, but right now, she felt vulnerable and alone. She gave him a faintly grateful look, and he smiled tentatively. Sun, for all his faults, was a genuinely good person, and since she had gotten together with Blake, his presence was warm and comforting to her, like a brother’s. 

“So,” he said conversationally, ordering a Strawberry Sunrise for Yang, per her request, and a margarita for himself, as they took seats at the far corner of the bar. Muted gold lights filtered down from thin bulbs, turning his eyes to a peculiar silver. “I’ve got no problem with a drink between bros, but I have a feeling this isn’t that, and there’s plenty more people you could go out to get stonefaced with, instead of me. So, what’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you because you know Blake the best,” she said, without preamble. “Don’t you?” 

“Aside from you, you mean.” He picked at a loose thread in his shirt with a crooked grin. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. I don’t think she really gives away a lot of herself to other people, though. Why?” 

“Well,” Yang said, “I screwed up tonight, Sun, and we got into a fight. Not a petty one about something that doesn’t matter, either. This was… a real fight. And I— I don’t know if she wants to make up with me at all. She was… pretty angry.” 

His eyebrows arched. “What happened?”

She stared at the bar. There were deep gouges scarred in the wood, stained with older places where people had also come to forget. Her fingers traced a half moon scratched into the wood. “I told Ruby and Weiss stuff I shouldn’t have, stuff about Blake’s past, and she found out— I don’t know how, but that doesn’t even matter at this point. What matters is that she’s really, really upset, and I don’t even know how to begin apologizing to her for it.” 

Sun looked less guarded now, the startled expression stark in his eyes. “Oh.”

“Yeah. _Oh.”_ She took her drink as the bartender swung by with them, draining it in one gulp. Sun looked impressed and faintly scared. 

“Where did you learn to drink like that?”

She swallowed. “My uncle left his drinking flask out once, and I thought it was apple juice, but— that’s beside the point. Sun, I need advice.” 

Sun looked thoughtful, taking a delicate sip of his drink. “Er, alright, sure. You two are Bonded, aren’t you? Try to see what she’s feeling right now.”

Yang did, and a fresh wave of raw emotion thundered through her. “She’s still angry. Not as much as she was, but still really sad, and… and disappointed.” She felt tears prick at her eyes, and firmly blinked them away. _I will_ not _cry. I’m Yang Xiao Long. Tough as nails._

_“_ I wish I hadn’t done this, but she can’t expect me to be perfect. Can she?” Yang blinked anxiously at Sun. He shook his head and leveled his gaze upon hers.

“No, Yang. She can’t. No one is.” 

Yang couldn’t help being who she was. Blake couldn’t help throwing up walls. But she loved her anyways. 

She didn’t realize she had said it out loud until Sun set his cup onto the counter and flicked gray eyes — warm and compassionate — over her. “That’s good, Yang,” he said. “Because she deserves someone like you.” 

“I don’t know what to _do_ ,” Yang confessed, staring down into the swirling depths of the drink, the ice chilling her hands, feeling sick inside. “What do I do? What if I — what if she—” 

“If there’s anything I know about her, and you know it too, it’s that she runs like hell when things scare her, when she’s out of her element. Blake’s no coward, Yang. Not at all. That’s not what I’m saying. But there’re different kinds of courage, you know? She would sacrifice herself for you and your team in an instant if it would mean that you could all be safe. If there’s a cost, she’ll be the one to pay it, whether that’s good or bad. But matters of the heart are different, because once the heart is broken, you can’t repair it; you’re never the same. Trust is her fatal flaw; we all have one. But trust isn’t a thing to be given lightly. Sure, we all make mistakes, Yang — but it’s how we respond to the crap that happens afterward that really makes us who we are.” 

“You’re a pretty wise guy, you know that? You could be a therapist.” 

Sun winked. “Shhh, no one’s supposed to know that something even _remotely_ smart lies under these handsome golden locks of mine.” He ran a hand through his hair and grinned, before his face grew grave again. “It’s no secret that I used to— be fond of Blake, of course, but she’s more of a sister to me now. And in that, I’ve noticed something.” His storm-gray eyes watched Yang somberly. “She loves you more than anything.”

Yang was quiet for a moment. 

“Anyone can see it in her eyes when she looks at you,” Sun continued earnestly. “She’s been hurt before. Nothing you or I can do will change that, will make the pain go away. Her fatal flaw is lack of trust, yours is— hell, I’d wager it’s your inner fire. The very thing that makes you who you are— “

“And what about you, Sun?” 

“Mine?” He stirred his straw and blinked, his eyes suddenly very tired under the amber lights. “Still figuring it out, dude. It’s… not easy.” 

“So… so what should I do? Apologize?” 

“Not an apology. Show her that she can trust you, but that she can’t expect you to be perfect. You’re _not_ perfect. No one is. A relationship is about balance and communication. If you don’t have both, one scale overtips and then the whole thing goes up in flames.” 

“Sometimes I just… I don’t know what to do. I love her, Sun. I do. If she wasn’t in the picture, I don’t know where I would be. But she is in the picture. She’s the _whole_ picture. I just…” Yang swallowed. “I need her to know I’m _not_ perfect, I can’t _be_ perfect. That’s too much to ask.” 

Sun took a sip of his drink, looking sad. “Blake told me something once,” he said. “She told me that life— living— was a risk in the making. At the time I thought she might have been just, you know, talking meaninglessly — I’m sure you’ve realized that she talks when she gets sad — but now, I think she was talking about _you._ Everyone is a risk. Whenever you put your trust in someone, you give them the power to hurt you. And for some people, that’s freaking scary. But for others, it’s the greatest act of faith. But trust is a two-way street.” 

“So what do you think I should do to fix this?” 

“Tell her exactly that. If she’ll listen to anyone, she’ll listen to you,” he said with a sideways smile. “And, Yang?” 

“Yeah?”

He clapped her on the shoulder the way a brother might, grinning. “I can’t think of anyone better for her than you, and she knows that. You just need to remind her. Hold onto that,” he said. “Hold onto love.” 


	24. Chapter XXIII - Sparks Fly Upward

_**Yang**_  
  
She felt sick and twisted and knotted up and utterly, utterly wrong.

It had been hours and almost a day since she’d spoken to Sun and forced a huge rift between her and Blake. Threads still connected them, but they were strained, trembling taut, and she knew if she didn’t fix this soon, they would snap altogether.

“ _YANG!”_

Yang’s head snapped around as a high-pitched wail pierced her ears and a weight— a small red and black weight that was currently baying in misery—crashed into her, her voice rising high enough to go out of vocal frequency. “I’m sorry— I’m _so_ sorry— I accidentally told Blake about what you told us, this is my fault, I should have kept my mouth shut—”

“Good Lord, little sis. Take a breath.” She extricated herself from Ruby’s grip. “It’s all right. It was bound to come out sooner or later. I’m not upset. Just— it’s okay, really. I just,” she frowned. “I just feel like I forced us to take a huge step backwards, that’s all.” 

Ruby blinked at her. “But I—”

“I _promise_ I’m not angry at you,” she said. “But, uh, do me a favor, and you and Weiss— don’t come by the dorm room tonight until I message you from the Scroll, okay?”

Ruby’s eyes widened in curiosity despite her solemnness. “Something you want to tell me?”

“No, no!” Yang flushed. “Nothing like that. I just— I need to apologize, and I… don’t want anyone butting in. You know?”

“Sure thing. I’ll force-feed Weiss sleeping pills and drag her to the library!” Ruby said cheerily, before turning and streaking down the hallway. Yang debated on calling after her, but she sighed, turning and placing her hand on the doorknob, before hesitating.

She closed her eyes. Brushed against the Bond in her mind. Blake was within the dorm room. Yang couldn’t get any emotion from her— she was guarding it, keeping it carefully blank, but it still seeped through, a searing mixture of sorrow and grief.

She opened the door.

Blake did not turn as she entered, but her shoulders straightened, lines of tension showing through her shirt. She remembered once, weeks and weeks ago, a clear summer’s night when she had found Blake after days of searching. She remembered when the ocean had tinged the air, Blake’s eyes very wide and gold in her face. _You wanted to talk,_ she had said to Blake, the ice of winter in her voice, contrasting the warmth in the air. _So talk._

It was the mirror opposite of that now, with her own fire inside, and the cold autumn freezing the air outside. Blake was the one to watch her with a guarded expression. But she could not mask herself, truly, could not mask the sorrow she felt.

“Blake,” she said. “I came here to tell you two things.”

“You did?” Blake’s voice was flat, devoid of anything, but the Bond was alive like a wire, and Blake’s eyes were as pained as if she’d been stabbed through the center. “Then I suppose you should speak.”

“I need you to _hear_ me,” Yang whispered. “I need you to listen. _”_

“I’m listening,” Blake said, but it was abundantly clear to Yang, that, despite what she said, her mind was millions of miles away. She took a step forward, wrapping her fingers around Blake’s wrists. Blake looked up at her, achingly close, but unreachable all at once.

“Yang?” she whispered, confusion warring with sorrow in her eyes.

“Close your eyes,” she said.

Blake looked as if she were going to protest, but then she met Yang’s eyes, saw the steely flint within them, and she complied, eyelids fluttering shut. She looked so _young,_ so heartbreakingly alone, that Yang’s heart constricted as if gripped by iron. _My fault, my fault._

She brought her lips close to Blake’s ear. “The first thing you have to know,” she whispered, “is that I’m sorry, Blake. I’m so, so sorry for deceiving your faith in me, that whatever else isn’t true, that, at least, is.” 

Blake’s breath caught, her hand reaching out for Yang, but she moved away as fast as Blake could make her own movement. Her partner’s eyes flew open in confusion, but Yang shook her head.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

She did, frowning.

Yang leaned forward, brushing her lips against Blake’s. “Secondly,” she whispered, hearing Blake’s heartbeat like a war drum in the air, “you were wrong. I was wrong. But you’re asking too much of me to expect me to never mess up, to be flawless. And maybe I’m asking too much to expect you not to be who you are.”

Her breath subsided into a sharp intake of breath, the expression on her face cracking into a thousand pieces, replaced by a raw sadness. Slowly, Blake’s eyes opened, first reflecting the starlight that filtered through the skylights, then they landed on Yang. She could see herself in Blake’s eyes, two tiny reflections. She wasn’t crying, but she looked so heartbreakingly sad that she could hardly believe it was her, and something in Blake’s face changed. “Yang,” she whispered, taking her face and bringing their foreheads together. They were so close— Yang was inches away, their lips were a whisper apart— but it wasn’t close enough. It was never close enough.

“Tell me,” Yang whispered. “Tell me why you won’t let me fight for you.” 

Blake’s face fell. “I don’t know.” Tears shone in her eyes. “I don’t know, Yang. I’m just so scared because I’m falling, and what if what happened before with Adam happens again, you know? It was cruel and unfair and I got angry at you for something so stupid and trivial, in the end, because I do trust Ruby and Weiss, and I do trust you. And that’s not okay, it’s not. And I just got so wrapped up in thinking you could do better. You’re perfect, and I can’t—”

“No, stop there. I’m _not_ perfect.” Her eyes pinned Blake; she saw the muscles in her throat contract as she swallowed. “Say it. I’m not perfect.”

“You’re not—” she faltered; took a breath. “You’re not perfect. You’re not.”

“And you can hurt me just like I’ve hurt you.”

Blake’s shoulders slumped, and she repeated it softly.

“Don’t you get it?” Yang took her wrists gently, fingers resting against her pulse. “Could I hurt you? Yeah. Just like we’ve hurt each other.” Blake opened her mouth to speak, but Yang shook her head, cutting her off. “That doesn’t mean we don’t try anyways. I mean, hell, Blake, that same logic could apply to anything! Why get up in the morning if you’re just gonna go back to bed at night? Why make any bonds if they may crumble in a few years? Why try if you’re going to die someday?” She kissed her, hungry and rough. “Because I can make you really, really happy if you let me. So let me. Okay?”

Blake was shaking, but she wrapped her fingers around Yang’s. “Okay,” she said softly, and then Yang was kissing her, relieved and shaky.

“I was scared,” she said, head falling forward to rest on Yang’s shoulder, before she drew herself up and looked Yang in the eye. “Because I knew— _know—_ I’m in love with you. I don’t want anyone but you. I don’t even _want_ to want anyone but you. And— I don’t know, Yang, maybe I’m _not_ a good person, but corrupted people don’t love. They possess, and seek, and own _._ And I can’t help but think that some part of me has to be good, at least partially, to love you like I wish to.” 

“You are a good person, Blake. Maybe melodramatic,” and here, Blake wrinkled her nose at Yang, though her eyes softened, “but you’re absolutely good.” 

Blake’s brows settled in a serious line. “Do you— can you forgive me?” 

Yang leaned forward, kissed her softly and tenderly, her hands cupping Blake’s face, Blake’s breath ghosting out against her lips. “Do _you_ forgive _me_?” she countered, her voice barely louder than a breath. 

Blake’s eyes searched her face. “In all my life, I have found you— you, who, when I pushed you, you pushed me back. And how many people like that do you find in a lifetime?” Blake pulled her back into the kiss, hard and driving, until Yang let herself fall back on the bed, the two of them still tangled together. A part of her mind wondered, briefly, how far they were going, but the rest of her mind was perfectly content, and so she tuned herself out, only feeling Blake’s body on top of hers, so strong, and so vulnerable at once. 

“Yang,” Blake whispered, pulling away. “I want to tell you something.”

Yang blinked, forcing herself to listen as the seriousness in Blake’s tone shone through. “Okay. What is it?” 

“Before— I don’t know what we’re doing, right now, but… I haven’t told you what you _mean_ to me. Even when I was angry at you. We met here— Beacon— and now we’re here, you and me. You took everything I thought I knew and showed me that it was false. That I could trust, and that I could love, and that perhaps I was really a person, and not just the sum of so many mistakes. You make me feel hope again.” Blake’s voice dropped to a rough whisper, and Yang reached up, caressing her jaw and brushing away the strands of hair the fell in her eyes. “You make me want to be everything for you. And I’ll always want you. Always. So what I’m trying to say… Yang, I think I love you. I _do_ love you.” 

Yang’s heart was so full of emotion that, she felt if she contained anymore, she surely must let it out, or brim over. “Kiss me,” she said instead, and Blake leaned down and pressed her lips against Yang’s, nipping her bottom lip gently. Their hair fell together, a curtain of black and gold mingling to shield them from the world, as Blake’s mouth moved over her own. If their first kiss had been the beginnings of a wildfire sweeping through them, this was a star going into a supernova. It was heated and driven and sent fire swirling into her veins, dazzling and driving away all her thoughts but the mantra of _Blake, Blake, Blake._ All she saw, heard, felt, was Blake: she was all that mattered. Blake’s hands came down, one to her hair, one to her shoulder. Her heartbeat was unsteady and quick, Yang could hear it, and she was breathing ragged and fast. 

“Yang—“ Blake broke away from the kiss, panting, her pupils blown. Yang didn’t think she’d ever seen her like this, not in her element with perfect surety and grace. Blake’s hands were trembling. The faint light of the stars outside the window swung crazily— Blake didn’t seem to want to move away, but neither did Yang— and her lips still tingled with the bruising force of Blake’s kiss. “You have to tell me what you want— I can’t _think_ —“ 

“It’s okay.” Yang looked up at her, the amber of her eyes, andalmost unconsciously drew her hand along the slant of her jaw, the arch of her eyes, which fluttered shut at Yang’s touch. The color she’d always loved. They were just rims of gold circling her wide pupils now, her cheeks spotted with two patches of flushed red, high along her cheekbones. She was shaking. She was the most beautiful thing Yang had ever seen. “I want to, Blake, if you want to.” 

“Of course I want to. Can’t you tell?” Blake’s laugh was soft and wild, before she kissed her again, softly this time, barely a butterfly brush of her lips against Yang’s, but it still sent electricity jolting through her. _”_ I always want you.” 

Yang’s eyes fluttered half-shut, her breath stuttering, her head falling back to expose more of her throat as Blake trailed a line of kisses— like brands, burning hot against her skin, prickling more with every touch— down the curve of her cheek, the slope of her jaw, the wild pulse thudding in her throat. She mouthed over the curves of Yang’s collarbones, where they coalesced into the hollow of her throat, and Yang groaned low in her throat, a wild heat thrumming within her, hands finding the wiry muscles of Blake’s shoulderblades, like an angel’s sheared wings. 

Blake lifted her head, her eyes a hot gold, and Yang marveled, for a moment, at the change that had come over her. She remembered Blake as she’d first met her: her eyes hard and flat, her expression wiped blank, like the cold effigy of an statue. She had thought those cold golden eyes were distant, more distant than the farthest stars, even frightening, before she’d grown to realize what she was looking at was the expert shielding of seventeen years of self-protection. Seventeen years of guarding her heart. 

Yang smoothed her hands down Blake’s spine, brushing her hair back. “I love you,” she told her, heart skipping down a flight of stairs. “I love you, Blake Belladonna.” 

Blake’s eyes were free of shadows, and she brought her head down, pressing a swift kiss to Yang’s jaw, sending another jolt of liquid fire thrilling through Yang’s veins. _You kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire._ “I love you too.” 

And with her skills as a huntress of smooth certainty, Yang flipped their positions swiftly and surely, so she was on top, straddling Blake with a coy grin. Blake’s hair fanned out dark, and there was an intensity in her eyes that made Yang shiver, along with an unasked question which she voiced as soon as Yang gave her a quizzical look. 

“Are you— are you sure?” Blake blew out a breath between her teeth. “I want this— _God,_ I want this— but I don’t want to if you’re not—“ 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Yang laid her hand over Blake’s, gave it a light squeeze, their own sign, before she leaned down to kiss her. Blake’s hand tangled in her hair. Somewhere along the line, her bow had fallen off, and not for the first time, Yang wondered at how on earth she’d gotten to have someone so beautiful. But then, Blake was staring up at her with the sort of unadulterated wonder that Yang associated with sheer awe, like she was a sculpted Greek statue, something to be worshipped. That _was_ how Blake had seen her, somehow, impossibly beautiful; she’d been blurred to look enigmatically breathtaking in Blake’s memories. 

They were both sitting up now, panting and flushed from the force of the fire of their bond— both of them, the Bond and not, the one of their partnership and the one they shared in their hearts, and Blake was fumbling with the knot on her scarf and jacket. She was still shaking, and Yang calmly laid a hand over Blake’s. “Let me,” she murmured, pulling the scarf and mahogany leather jacket over her head in one fell swoop, leaving her in a sheer white camisole that hugged her body tightly. She shook out her hair over her shoulders, faintly wishing for something more remarkable, but Blake was staring at her as if she were something exotic and amazing. 

She kissed her; when Blake pulled away, her finger traced the outline of Yang’s mouth, slow and reverently. “For this I would have been damned forever. For this I would have given up everything.”

Yang felt her heart quicken, and she touched her cheek gently, knowing her eyes were shining with what she had said once, what emotion was thundering through the Bond and her heart with all the surety that the sun would rise the next day. “Blake,” she breathed like a prayer, before moving to cover her body with her own.  
  
  


* * *

 

**_Blake_ **

She woke as the coming dawn spilled its first light into the room, filling the air with pale rose and gold. The sheets shifted around her, and her eyes fell onto Yang, her hair scattered like sparks in the dimness.

She sank back against the mattress, a smile— not a quirk of her mouth or a grin, but a real smile— spreading across her face. She was safe, she was loved. And last night, they had done… stuff. They had reconciled, as well, but… it was looking brighter than it had in a while. Things were going to be okay. 

_BZZZ! BZZZ!_

She started as a sharp buzz cut through the air, originating from the bedside desk.Yang’s Scroll was lit up with a message. Blake glanced at it. The contact name ‘lil rose’ was bouncing on the notifications, and she grinned. Ruby, of course. 

**_10:07 PM:_ ** _u never messaged me back and I had to convince weiss not to burst into the dorm anyways. it was totally hard & she abt did come in but i persuaded her not to, so u owe me one. we’ll crash with jaune and the rest of his team until u message me back! _

_ps. omigod sis! i found out ren talks in his sleep and pyrrha snores super loud. BLACKMAIL MATERIAL!! :D_

**_7:03 AM:_ ** _You better message me back by nine, yang! we have plans today with sun’s team b4 the missions, remember!_

A picture followed the message, of Ruby flipping a peace sign at the camera while, in the background, Team JNPR and Weiss could all be seen. They were blurred in movement, Weiss, shoving her head under a pillow to try to get to sleep, Jaune, who was yawning with a puzzled expression on his face, Pyrrha, who was laughing, and Nora, grinning at Ren, who was fast asleep. Blake let out a huff of exasperated laughter at the image before turning back around, and poking Yang. _“_ You’ve got mail, Yang.”

Yang gave a sleepy murmur and tightened her arms around Blake’s waist, not even opening an eye. “Shhh. Warm. Quiet. Sleep.” 

“Don’t you want to wake up?”

“No,” she murmured, burying her face in Blake’s side, breath warm against her bare skin. “I kinda want this little moment to last forever. So let it last as long as it can. Okay?”

“I’m all right with that,” Blake whispered, and, content as she had not known before now, she pressed a gentle kiss to Yang’s forehead, twined her fingers into her partner’s, and let sleep claim her once more. 


	25. Chapter XXIV - Into the Darkest Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N - sorry for the shortness of this chapter. Next week’s will be longer; this was a filler.

**_Torchwick  
  
_ **

Once upon a time, he had dreamed of becoming a Huntsman.

But that was years ago, years that had flown by, like pages caught in high wind. And he was a shell now, as insubstantial as a ghost. He was serving a power that he hated because he was a coward. _Better to join them than die by them._

He hated her. He hated her and he hated her two ‘partners’, but he had no choice.

Cinder had come from the darkness, melted from it like she was as insubstantial as a shadow come to life, her eyes two glittering flames. There had been two others with her— the boy with gray eyes, and the girl who lurked in her shadow with cold, cold eyes— but Cinder was the one to fear. She was the puppet master, with her allies and tricks and lies.

 

* * *

 

“You’re alone,” he said, exultant at having trapped her without her silken words. “Cinder, Huntress, however you call it— you’re the only one behind this, and all you have is me, those two children, and brute force. That’s not enough for a world-wide revolution.”

“Mercury and Emerald are _not children_ ,” she said, her voice sharp, more angry than he had ever heard it. Cracks were showing in her armor, her eyes furious, before she visibly glossed her emotions to an icy veil again.

“And I am not alone in the plans that are being woven, you fool,” she went on softly, as softly as the crackle-purr of a fire. “How ignorant of you to presume so.”

“If that’s true and you expect me to believe you, prove it,” Torchwick muttered resentfully, folding his arms across his chest.

Cinder looked at him with an amused smile, before she said abruptly, “Tell me, Roman, do you have any allies of your own?”

He stared at her for a second, taken aback. “I—,” He faltered, thoughts straying back, years and years ago, so long it seemed like a lifetime.

_It had been a hot summer’s day, the sun beating down against the streets and making the air shimmer with a thick, resinous heat. He had had a long week, unable to purloin anything, and deals had been trickling in at a sluggish rate. He had barely enough money to scrape up a meal and he had scavenged from wherever he could, foraging for meals like a street rat— just like what they called him._

_He had plans, great plans. He knew it. But there was no way to enforce them, with no money and no support._

_He was turning out to be all that he feared: poor, and a nobody. He’d labored for this long under the illusion that he would be great one day, but that’s all it was: an illusion. Illusions were pretty, and they were as empty as his father’s promises before he’d been killed._

_He crossed a street, pausing by a shadowy alley. He narrowed his eyes into the darkness, seeing a light flicker of movement at the far end, and then the silhouette of a shape— too big to be a rat or a stray cat. It looked like a person— a thin, bony person, but someone all the same._

_Seeing a chance to pilfer some money, he slipped into the narrow space between the two buildings. Like every alleyway in every kingdom, it reeked of stale smoke and less desirable fluids. His lip curled at the graffiti scrawled on the walls. But he could hardly have expected better from the lowlifes living in Mistral, for he was one of them himself._

_The person at the end of the alley lifted their head and made a low hissing in their throat as he approached. Surprise lit in his heart as he saw it was a girl, no older than eleven, her two-toned eyes— pale rose and earth colored—narrowing angrily at him._

_“What are you doing back here? Don’t you know it’s… dangerous in Mistral, especially for someone like you?” he asked. “Your age won’t protect you, you know. Not with the scum that live here.”_

_She spat at him. He shook his head, bemused, realizing that he had unconsciously decided not to take advantage of this girl; she looked about ready to keel over. He stole, but never from those who truly needed every scrap they had._

_“I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her. “I swear it. Tell me, though, why are you hiding back here? Why not get out of here, to Vale or Vacuo? They’d treat you better.”_

_She frowned at him, clearly judging if he meant what he said, before she shook her head with an uttered sigh. She held out her hand and pointed to his own, lifting it, palm-up, into the air._

_“Do you want me to hold out my hand?” he asked warily. She nodded earnestly. “Uh, okay, I guess. Why?”_

_She smiled mysteriously, her odd, two-toned eyes answering an unasked question. Roman blinked at her, before extending his arm, as if in a daze. She took it, and then slowly, carefully, traced her finger on his wrist, just above his pulse point._

_“Are you trying to spell something in letters?”_

_Another nod, followed with an excited grin._

_“Alright—er— okay, no, do it again, I didn’t get the letter the first time.”_

_Slowly but surely, the girl traced out letters on his wrist. C-A-N-T. S-P-E-A-K._

_“I’ve seen worse on these streets, believe me,” he told her with a laugh of his own, feeling oddly light and happy, and she looked surprised, before smiling. It struck him what an odd pair they made— him, the scrawny dreamer with a head full of plans and no way to enforce them, and her, the small girl with no words of her own but her eyes alive with thought. “I’m Roman. What’s your name?”_

_Her hand hesitated over his skin, before she scrawled out more letters, a little more hurried this time. N-E-O-P-O-L-I-T-A-N. N-E-O._

_“Just Neo?”_

_She nodded, hair bouncing over her shoulders._

_“Well, I can see why you’re called that. So if you can’t talk, how do you get by?”_

_She pointed at him, drew two fingers across her throat with a chilling look in her eyes, and mimed stealing the knapsack on his bag and removing the contents. “Thievery,” he said with a knowing nod. “Well, then, Neo, you and I may not be so different after all.”_

_She nodded with a little shrug, before tracing a sentence into the thick dirt at their feet. Her handwriting was shaky._ I survive by myself, _she wrote, before flashing a look of defiance up at him._

_“I’d figured that, believe it or not.” He watched as she scuffed out the sentence, dust motes twirling up into the feeble autumn sunlight that fell to the floor of the alley. It was an oddly pretty sight, one that he had long since ceased to appreciate._

_She lifted her shoulders in a wordless shrug before letting them fall._

_“Do you—” He paused, knowing how hapless the question was, before blurting it out. “I don’t know. I feel wrong to leave you here. And I… this sounds odd, and please, feel free to just ignore it, but… do you want to team up, maybe for a little while? Try surviving together?”_

_Her eyes widened in shock, pink against brown, before she tilted her head, considering him. Then, just after he was sure she would race off, Neo grinned, and took his hand and brought it to his chest. Y-E-S, she wrote, just over his heart._

He came back to the present with a shudder. “I _do_ have allies,” he said petulantly, tasting the words in his mouth as Cinder watched him dispassionately.

“Good.” Her words were cold. “In the new age, those who are alone and apart will not survive without them.”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know what to do, Neo.”

Her odd-colored eyes regarded him, unreadable and reserved. The two of them had become so adept in their silent communication that she could quickly scrawl a message on his skin, when needed, without him having to ask her to repeat it slowly; often they communicated via Scrolls, but the old way felt more personal.

 _What’s troubling you now?_ She wrote on his skin.

“Her,” he said, the word coming out as a hissed breath between gritted teeth. “Cinder, the bastard. How I hate her, Neo. With her stupid _rules,_ her fanatic _games,_ those idiotic children she totes around and cares nothing for, except their _powers_ …”

Neo’s brows furrowed. Her touch was cold as she paused before writing on his forearm. _If you hate her so much then it is simple._

He gritted his teeth. Neo pointed at him, and mouthed his name. _Leave her then. Never return._

He gave a gasping sort of laugh. “If only it were that easy,” he said. “She’d hunt us down, the both of us, and kill us. Torture us, first, it’s likely, for betraying her… we know too much of her plans now. I can’t let that happen to you. And you know…” He shook his head, kicking angrily at a box. “She’ll win. She’s going to get what she wants.”

_And what’s that?_

“She wants to burn this world to her name,” Roman growled. “To cinders. To ashes. How can I let that happen?”

He looked up, startled by the depth of bitterness on Neo’s face, and she wrote, hard and angry on his arm. _The world doesn’t care about you or I. Why should you care about it?_

 _“_ So you believe that I should go along with her, even knowing what I know?”

She nodded.

“Neo—”

Her open hand sharply closed into a fist, eyes flashing, and he knew he’d gone a step too far. She hardly ever used the hand-sign for ‘enough’. _What’s done is done,_ she traced on his flesh, just over his knuckles. _Put your heart into one thing or another, but do not allow it to be torn in two with uncertainty, Roman._

“I will serve her faithfully. It is better to be a live coward then a dead fool. But Neo, I’m afraid…” He swallowed. “I’m afraid that if I go too far into this darkest night, I may never be able to return.”

Her grin was dark, entirely devoid of any real happiness or amusement. It looked like something on a disembodied skull. _Darkness is where we reside._

 


	26. Chapter XXV - Where Angels Fear to Tread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's try to pull to 450 reviews for this chapter, yes?   
> 450 for the Mountain Glenn arc, hooray~

  
****

**_Ruby_ **

  
****

The lights of the elevator whirred as she shot up, the rattle of the cables thrumming faintly through her feet. She impatiently flicked a strand of hair from her eyes,

The elevator let out a tinny _ding_ and she heard a muffled voice from the other side of the double doors. “Come in.”

The doors slid open smoothly, admitting Ruby into the spherical room at the top of the tower. Three people were inside, and she gulped, gathering herself. _Tell them about the woman in the CCT, but try to tip off Professor Ozpin about stuff in the southeast so he’ll make sure there’s a mission assigned to that place… simple, right?_

She stifled a groan and walked into the room. The gears turned with faint, clicking _pings_ overhead, the blazing afternoon light shading the Headmaster, Professor Goodwitch, and the General, so that their eyes seemed to glow brighter in their faces as they watched her — General Ironwood looked stony, his eyes conflicted; Professor Goodwitch looked like she was suppressing anger; Ozpin simply looked tired.

“Thank you for coming, Ruby,” the headmaster said gently, inclining his head towards her. “How are you feeling?”

She felt unnerved as he stared intently into her eyes. _You have silver eyes,_ she recalled him saying, and she attempted to get rid of her unease by smiling, albeit tentatively. “Okay, I guess,” she said. “I’d feel a lot better if my bad-guy-catching record wasn’t o-for-three.”

She sank further into her boots as she was met with a distinctly disapproving silence. “Okay, so that’s the tone we’re going for, got it…”

The general’s face seemed to soften as she shrank in on herself. “Ruby, I feel it is appropriate to let you know that I think the actions you took were exactly what being a Huntress is all about. You recognized a threat, you took measures to stop it, and you did the very best you could. No one could have asked for more.”

Relief flooded her as she realized she wasn’t going to get in trouble. “Thank you, sir,” she said, heartfelt.

Ozpin inclined his head to the stock-still figure of Atlas’s leader. “The general here has informed us of the events that… transpired last night. However, now that you have rested, we were wondering if you may have anything else to add.”

Goodwitch took a step forward, cutting straight to the chase. “Was anyone else with her? Did she, perhaps, look familiar to you at all?”

Ruby shook her head. _Only those eyes. Amber… but so cold._ “I don’t know,” she said, finally. “She was wearing a mask, and she never said anything to me. I know she fought with glass, but I don’t think that was her semblance… her clothing lit up like fire whenever she attacked.”

“Save for the glass,” Glynda said ponderously, “that sounds like the woman I fought the night we met Ruby.”

Ruby’s eyes widened. _I forgot about that. That woman was with Torchwick. Maybe—_

But the General’s voice was disappointed and harsh. “Ozpin, you know embedding Dust in clothes, even flesh— that’s an age-old trick. It could have been anyone trying to sabotage the CCT.”

“Perhaps,” the headmaster said musingly, not sounding as if he really believed it.

“Do you think this girl is connected to Torchwick and even the White Fang?” Ruby asked hesitantly.

“It’s possible,” he said, his voice still distant. “However, we lack the required evidence to link the two.”

 _Now or never,_ Ruby thought, heart in her throat. “Actually, sir,” she said, raising her voice, “I— I think I remember her saying something— about a hideout, or something, in the southeast— just outside the kingdom.”

Ozpin’s eyes glittered and she desperately prayed he wouldn’t inquire further. “Interesting,” was all he said, and she let out a tiny breath of relief.

Goodwitch’s eyes narrowed. “I thought _you_ said the intruder never—”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Ruby,” Ozpin said loudly, drowning her out. A knowing smile curled his mouth. “Why don’t you go and spend some time with your team? You have a big day ahead of you.”

A new jaunt in her step, she turned to go. _We did it!_ “Any time!”

“And Miss Rose.”

She turned around, startled by the graveness in his voice. All three of the adults were watching her intently, Ozpin most of all.

“Please try to be… discreet about this matter.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, suitably cowed, and she turned to go, trying to walk fast without looking like she was fleeing.

 

* * *

 

**_Blake_ **

 

“If she gets in trouble for this, or caught,” Yang said, rolling the package that had come for her in the mail and glaring threateningly at Weiss, “I’m literally going to smack you upside the head with this package.”

“Why?” she said indignantly. “It was just an idea. No one _said_ you had to use it!”

“You both very well know this is the only way to ensure that the southeast of Vale will even _be_ on the list of options to travel to,” Blake said evenly, raising her eyes from her book. _Hopefully, of course…_ “Quit fighting. It makes it _impossible_ for me to read.”

“Nerd. You could probably read in the middle of a hurricane if you wanted to,” Yang said, setting the package down, and Blake grinned at her as affection surged through the Bond. She folded her book, pondering whether it was worth it to make a snappy comeback, before she heard distant— and familiar— footsteps tromping down the hall. The three of them looked at each other before leaping up and making a break for the door at once.

When Ruby flung it open, her eyes widened at the sight of them looking nothing so much like three overexcited puppies. “I’m glad to see you guys weren’t waiting up on me,” she said with a grin.

“What happened?” Yang squealed.

“Let me catch a breath, geezums,” she said. “I ran all the way from the tower to here and I almost tripped down a whole flight of stairs.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Blake wondered aloud, dog-earring her book and setting it down. “But yes, she’s right; what _did_ happen?”

Ruby’s eyes shifted downward. “Well, um,” she said with a nervous laugh, “I did what I could. I kinda… subtly slipped in the southeast to their interrogation by saying that woman in the CCT mentioned it to me.”

“That was a risky move,” said Weiss accusingly.

“No, I believe she handled it well,” Blake said, looking with new respect at Ruby; the team leader still looked downcast. “What did Ozpin say to you?”

“Just that it was interesting,” she muttered, and Blake frowned.

Yang patted her shoulder comfortingly. “Cheer up, Ruby. Things’ll turn out okay; they always do, and you did the best you could. We’ll just have to hope luck’s on our side from here on out. But,” she spun around and thrust the package on the desk towards her little sister. “I know something that might cheer you up!”

“What’s that?” Ruby said, poking the package.

“I don’t know. Tai sent it to us.” Blake’s eyebrows shot up as Ruby made a flying leap for the package, arms flailing wildly.

“Something from home!”

Yang shook the bulky package and the lid popped off with a _hiss_ of air, and the contents fell out in a distinctly fuzzy, gray, and wiggling ball. The four of them leaned curiously over it.

Blake’s ears pricked forward, rustling against her bow as she saw two jewel bright eyes blink up at her, and the _thing_ shook itself out into a very much alive animal with two furry ears, four paws, claws, and tail.

A _dog._ Dear God, no.

Her startled yelp was drowned out by Ruby’s scream of excitement, Yang’s whooping holler of joy, and Weiss’s shout of exasperation, but by the time the noise had died, she had scrambled to the safety and precious height of the bed where the little demonic creature could not reach her.

“Your father sent a dog in the _mail?_ ” Weiss said, apparently dumbfounded.

“Dad’s kind of - eccentric,” Ruby said apologetically. “He does stuff like this all the time, believe me.”

“Blake,” Yang said, looking up as the dog yelped and twined itself around her boots, “why are you all the way up there?”

“I’m not touching you for a _month_ ,” Blake forced out through gritted teeth, “if you don’t get that _horrendous_ creature _—”_

“Hey!” Ruby stuck her tongue out at her and picked up Zwei, cradling him like an infant. The dog lolled his tongue at her and barked happily. Blake shivered. “Insult him again and we’ll go from RWBY to RWZY, mark my words.”

“Eh, I don’t know. Team Roozy doesn’t really have the same ring to it.” Yang scratched the dog between the ears and grinned at Blake, about to say something, before the crackle of an intercom cut her off.

_‘Would all first year students please report to the amphitheater.’_

“Here it is, you guys. Ready to go be heroic?”

“Anything to get away from that horrible mutt,” Blake groaned, before leaping from the bed, springing off the table, and making a dash for the door.  
  


* * *

 

“Wait a second, where the hell did Ruby go?”

“There she is,” Weiss said with a touch of annoyance as the three of them turned to see Ruby racing towards them though the throng of students, her bulky bag bouncing on her shoulders.

“Please,” Ruby puffed, skidding to a halt next to them as the slow procession of first years filed into the amphitheater, her hands on her kneecaps, “come on, you guys didn’t even _wait_ for me—”

“Well, yeah,” Yang said, looking curiously at her sister. “Duty calls, and all.”

“She didn’t want to get yelled at by the professors,” Blake said with amusement, eyeing the bulky backpack on Ruby’s shoulders. “Besides, this _is,_ after all, the day we’ve been waiting for.”

They all fell silent as they joined the diverging stream of Vale students to the far left of the vaulting amphitheater. Warm, buttery light poured through the windows lining the walls, high above, spilling into dapples on the ground. Yang’s hand slipped into Blake’s as they stopped in front of Team JNPR, turning expectantly to the solemn figure of the headmaster on the stage; she squeezed her fingers in Yang’s before turning her attention back to the forefront of the room.

“Greetings.” His amplified voice echoed in the cavernous room. “Today is a day that you, as future Huntsmen and Huntresses, know well. Today is a day that we stand together, undivided. Mistral, Atlas, Vacuo, and Vale: the four kingdoms of Remnant. Today, nearly eighty years ago, the largest war in recorded history drew to a close.” His eyes swept the room. “It was a war of ignorance, of greed, and of oppression. But this was was about much more than where borders fell, or who traded with whom. No, this war regarded the very idea of individualism itself.”

 _My father fought and died in a war for that idea of equality,_ Blake thought, her chest tightening. _How I wish he could be here now._

“We fought for countless reasons, one of which being the destruction of all forms of art and self-expression,” Professor Ozpin went on, his shoulders falling tiredly. “And as you are well aware, that was something many could not stand for. As a result, those who opposed this tyranny began naming their children after one of the core aspects of art itself: _color.”_

Blake’s eyes flicked over to Ruby, and then to Jaune, but then her attention was torn away as Ozpin continued. _“_ It was their way to demonstrate that not only would they refuse to tolerate this oppression, but neither were the generations to come. And it was a trend that is held to this very day.” Was it her imagination, or was he looking at Ruby as well? 

“We encourage individuality, expressionism, and unity through diversity. As I have said, today we stand together, united. But this bond cannot exist without effort. Which is why today, while the rest of the world celebrates peace, Huntsmen and Huntresses will work to uphold it. As first year students, you will be tasked with shadowing a professional Huntsman or Huntress on a mission. Some of you may be taken out of the Kingdom for several days. Others may work within the walls for the rest of the week. But no matter which path you choose, remember to be safe, remember your training, and remember to do your very best.

“This is it!” Ruby whispered eagerly as the room dissolved into groups of fours, milling about to the hologram pads that lined the room. “We just have to find a mission in the south-east, and we’re golden.”

“She makes it sound so easy,” Blake whispered to Yang, and she laughed.

“Let’s check search and destroy. It can’t be too hard to fight during the day and investigate during the night.”

They forged through the crowd, stopping by a flickering white hologram. Yang looked at her as Ruby set about entering their names in, and she grinned. “Are you ready to go kick butt?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Blake said, and then, lowering her voice so no one could hear, “we’ve no idea what will be waiting for us, Yang, and if it _is_ the White Fang, Torchwick, _and_ the woman who fought Ruby in the CCT—”

“We’ll have a Huntsman with us,” Yang said gently. “And we can protect ourselves. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, that’ll have to be good enough,” Blake said reluctantly, before a loud _BEEP_ broke into her thoughts. She snapped her gaze over to see the holopad flashing the message, _‘MISSION UNAVAILABLE TO FIRST YEARS’,_ before it returned to the home-screen.

Yang swore. Blake rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Any other ideas?” she said, sounding not very hopeful.

Ruby frowned. “We _mail_ ourselves there,” she said, but she sounded defeated, too.

“That’s one option, Miss Rose, but not altogether a pleasant prospect.”

Blake spun around with the rest of her team as the unmistakable voice of the headmaster cut into their conversation. Ruby’s eyes widened.

“Unfortunately,” Ozpin continued, sweeping his gaze over the four of them, “we determined that the concentration of Grimm in that area was too… extreme for first-years. It seems, interestingly enough, that particular region is rather popular. In fact,” his gaze fell to Ruby, “I have the sneaking suspicion that you four will make your way there no matter which job you select.”

Blake shot an amused glance at Ruby. _He’s not wrong…_

 _“_ Whatever makes you say that?” Ruby said with an obvious air of feigned innocence.

Ozpin’s hands clasped on his cane. “I’m still curious, you see, as to how you four found yourselves at the docks last semester. I’m interested to know how you _really_ learnt about a hideout in the southeast. And I _certainly_ find myself wondering why witnesses reported seeing robots and rose petals in the highways some time ago.”

Blake’s eyebrows shot up. _Does he know—?_

“Um, well, I—”

“However, I doubt I’ll ever find the exact answers I’m searching for. So, I propose this. Instead of waiting for you all to break the rules, why don’t we just… _bend_ them?”

They exchanged excited looks as he selected some things on his scroll and the hologram screen made a shuddering noise, followed by a beep of ‘ACCEPTED’, before it returned to its former tranquil blue.

“Thank you, professor,” Ruby told him earnestly. “We won’t let you down.”

“Do not thank me for this,” he warned. “Teamwork and persistence have carried you far. But you must understand, the things that await you beyond the protection of the Kingdom _will not care_. Stay close to your Huntsman at all times, and do exactly as he says. He will be leading you on this mission, and he can have you sent back to Beacon, if he finds your skills to be unsatisfactory.” He turned away, before his eyes swept over them once more. Blake shrank back, remembering his words: _And_ what _are you, Blake?_

“Good luck,” he said very softly, before he was gone. 

 

* * *

 

**_Yang_ **

 

The wind was warm with a hint of chill as they followed the procession outside, splitting off to head to Quadrant Five, where their airship would be.

“That wasn’t uplifting,” Yang said glumly, shifting her hand in Blake’s. Her girlfriend shot her a sympathetic look and shrugged.

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“It’s gonna be tough, but I _know_ we can do it,” Ruby said, before lurching back as a student tore past her, yelling as he went.

“Team CFVY is back!” 

Yang stood on her tiptoes, craning over the crowd. Sure enough, there were the famous four: Coco, flipping her hair with the careless elegance that Yang was sure was the result of some sort of secret super-power she possessed. Fox, striding along with a long-legged slouch. Velvet, trotting alongside Fox and guiding him with little touches of her hand, smiling and chattering as people called out greetings to them. Yatsuhashi, towering over the students and responding to their questions with his deep rumble of a voice.

Blake gave her a look, an unasked question in her eyes as a throng of students congregated around CFVY. “Go on,” Yang said to her, knowing that, despite the closeness the two of them shared, she would never have the type of bond Blake would have with another Faunus. And that was perfectly fine, because she would hate for Blake to feel secluded. It was good that she had other friends outside of their small circle and Yang smiled as she watched her go up to the upperclassman, before following herself.

“Velvet?” Blake called out, catching her attention. “Are you okay?” 

The Faunus spun around and flashed her a polite smile. “I’m fine,” she said, indicating her behemoth of a teammate as he passed her. “I had Yatsuhashi to look out for me.”

“But your mission was supposed to end a _week_ ago,” Weiss intervened. “What happened?”

“Nothing… happened,” she said hesitantly, frowning. “It was just ... there were just so many…” Upon seeing the four of them exchange worried glances, she quickly backtracked. “Oh, but don't worry. You first-years are just shadowing Huntsmen, so you should be fine.” 

“Right,” Yang said drily. 

“I should go,” Velvet said, waving a hand in departure. “Have fun and be safe, you four!” 

Ruby looked at them. “We _can_ do this. We've never backed down before, and we're not going to start now. Besides, it won't only be us out there! We'll be fighting alongside a genuine Huntsman!” 

Yang agreed cheerfully. “Let’s go see who it is!” 

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice nearly lost in the roar of the wind as it clawed at her face. “I just never really saw you— or any teacher— as much of a fighter.” 

Yang wiggled her hand over Blake’s, where they both gripped the same support bar. Ruby, being terrified of heights, had managed to wrestle her way between them, and she now was succeeding in remaining stoic by doggedly refusing to look out the open-air windows. 

“Well, ah, yes, I fancy myself more of an intellectual, but I can assure you I’ve had more than my fair share of tussles.” 

“Like the mushroom?”

“Those are truffles.”

“Like the sprout?”

“Those are brussels.” 

Ruby fell silent and Yang grinned over at her, trying to concentrate on not being sick as the airship tilted nauseatingly, falling down to the silent ruins of Mountain Glenn. 

She was the first to jump out of the hovering airship, landing on the gritty ground and cocking her gauntlets as she did a quick one-over of the area. It _seemed_ silent, but it was hardly like she expected the enemy to be waving a flag that said ‘BAD GUYS HERE’.  

After what seemed like an eternity of combing the ruins of the city, Yang could feel every cut, every stone in her heel. Her own dark emotions swirled inside of her, brought to life by the Grimm flooding the city, and after the seventeenth time of scouring a building and finding nothing, she voiced her anger. 

“There’s nothing yet,” Yang muttered, disappointed. “This is stupid.” 

Blake looked over to say something, her amber eyes wide in her pale, dirty face.

It was at that moment that a dark piece of the roiling clouds overhead detached itself from the sky and darted suddenly downward, faster than any of them could follow. Yang caught a single horrible glimpse of wings and teeth and burning red eyes, and then Blake was rising up into the air, caught in the cruel-taloned grip of an airborne Nevermore. Weiss gave a cry of alarm. 

Yang’s hand went to her belt, but the Grimm had already shot back up into the sky, a whirl of leathery wings, emitting a high-pitched caw of victory. Blake made no noise at all; Yang could see her boots dangling, motionless. Was she _dead?_

Her vision went white. Yang whirled on her sister, who already had Crescent Rose out, a bullet in the chamber.

“Shoot it!” she screamed. 

Ruby spun like a dancer, scanning the sky. “I can’t get a clear shot; it’s too small—I could hit Blake—”

 _“BLAKE!”_ Yang screamed. She craned her head back— and then heard a loud _CRACK,_ the sound of a gun recoiling, and the Nevermore let out a single hoarse shriek before falling. It crumbled to windblown ashes as it plummeted. Blake had fallen from its taloned grip after she’d shot it, and now she hurtled down to the ground at terrifying speeds, flipping over and over before throwing Gambol Shroud out. The weapon found purchase on a nearby building, checking Blake’s fall; she swung around the ribbon and fell back to the ground with a thud, landing in a shallow crouch.

There was a grimace on her face as they ran over, Yang in the lead; Blake sheathed Gambol Shroud as they surrounded her, and she shook out her gear. There was a large gash in her clothes, leaking the oily black ichor of the Grimm where the Nevermore had gripped her with its jagged talons. “I’m fine,” she said calmly.

“ _Fine?”_ Yang gasped. “If your definition of fine suddenly includes becoming a snack for a screaming death bird, then we are going to have _words,_ Blake Belladonna—“

To her surprise, Blake grinned widely and flicked the black ichor from her arm, laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” Yang demanded.

Blake raised an eyebrow. “ _Screaming death bird?_ Only you.”

“Only me? Is that good or bad?”

Even through the flush of adrenaline and the grime, her smile was like quicksilver. “It’s perfect.”


	27. Chapter XXVI - Light the Lights of War

_**Blake** _

“I never thought I would say it,” Yang said after their fifth failed scouring of the area for signs of irregular activity, “but I really miss the days of accidentally stumbling upon chaos.”

“Seconded,” Ruby muttered glumly. “There’s been no sign of the White Fang or Torchwick. I was so sure…” She trailed off, but what she had been about to say echoed silently among the four of them. _I was so sure we would be able to stop them once and for all._

They both winced as Oobleck’s call echoed loudly in the labyrinth of desecrated buildings. “Moving along, students!”

Yang glanced over at Blake. “You doing alright?”

“I’m fine,” Blake said evenly, trying to mask the throbbing pain in her shoulder. The talons of the Grimm had not broken her skin, but she was sure she was going to have three parallel lines of bruises when she woke tomorrow; the sensation of being torn from the ground had been nauseating and she had thought she was going to die. It had been a reminder that none of them were safe out here, and she felt chilled.

She could also see the hint of anger in her partner’s eyes as they took down another pack of Beowolves, struggling by themselves as the professor stood to the side, watching emotionlessly and not lending a single hand to help them. Hours before, she would have told Yang to keep a lid on her anger, but now— in her exhaustion, sorrow, and bitterness that the Grimm ignited in her— she couldn’t quite find the will to do so.

“You know, _doctor,”_ Yang said as they sheathed their weapons, her voice dry with contempt, “I was looking forward to seeing a pro-Huntsman in action. Like, fighting, or at least _helping_ us fight?”

Blake looked around. None of them argued with her, though Ruby cast an anxious backward glance at her sister.

“I _am_ helping,” he said evenly, either not noticing her tone of voice, or choosing to disregard it. “Scouring the ruins of this once-great city for any signs of irregular activity.” Then his glasses slid down; narrowed, sharp eyes rested on Yang. “Not every mission is filled with terror and heroism, girls. Remember that this _is_ a job, and you all signed up for it.”

Yang visibly struggled for an argument before falling silent, her eyes dark with anger. She roughly shook away Blake’s worried questions as they proceeded on, and finally the Faunus gave up, letting Yang fall behind to the back of the group so she could think in silence. _I’m worried about her,_ Blake thought. _This can’t be easy and I know she struggles with her foster-mother’s death, and how it happened, and being here, in the presence of so many Grimm…_

As the sun was beginning to set in the sky, the stars dawning cold and clear, the pace of the five of them began to slow. They were deep within the heart of the city now, and the Grimm were more numerous.

“Tell me, Yang,” the professor said as they took down a group of Ursai sheltering in a desecrated tenancy, “Why did you choose to become a Huntress?”

Blake deliberately spun around, knowing the answer was a private thing, half-wanting to hear it, anyways. She felt a spike of uncertainty hum through their Bond— a doubting, waiting feeling from Yang that was so strong, Blake nearly staggered, stunned. _She’s so strong. How has she not told me about how doubtful she feels about the life she’s chosen?_

“Well, I…” she faltered. “To fight monsters, and save the—”

“No. That is _what_ you do. I want to know _why you do it.”_

“The honest reason?” There was a raw ache of pain in her voice. “I’m a thrill-seeker, I guess. I want to go around the world and get wrapped up in as many crazy adventures as I can. And if I can help people along the way, then that’s even better. It’s a win-win, you know?”

Blake’s heart went out to her. _You want that because you want to run from the pain of your past, Yang,_ she thought, heart nearly breaking for her. _You’re just like I am. Why are you hiding it from yourself—and from me?_

Yang wouldn’t meet her eyes as she stumbled back to the group. She looked up only once more the whole day, when Oobleck questioned Weiss. And as they heard _her_ answer—a cool reply about ‘honoring her family’s name and legacy’— Blake knew it wasn’t only Yang who had been untruthful about her motives.

_We’re all hiding from what we don’t want to face._

She was ready when he came up to her with the same question on his lips. Or so she thought.

“Tell me, Blake,” he said as she tried to catch her breath, heart loud in her chest, “why did you choose this line of work? You seem to carry yourself with a sense of purpose.”

She glanced sidelong at him, trying to gauge his intent. “There’s too much wrong in this world to stand by idly and do nothing,” she said at last, staring down at her feet and trying not to think of Adam. “Inequality and corruption… someone’s got to do something about it.”

His eyes flashed. “Very well. How?”

She blinked at him, startled. “I… I…”

Before she could summon an answer, he had gone, and she stared into the darkness of the building, depthless and menacing. _He’s right,_ she thought, a wave of panic threatening to wash over her. _I really have no idea how I’m going to do anything. I didn’t leave Adam because I had some noble goal all well-thought out in my head… I left because I was a coward._

 

_Am I still?_

 

She knew the answer, deep down inside of her. Tasting a bitterness in her mouth that was not from the adrenaline, she turned and began to trudge back to the others.

“You alright?” Yang whispered to her as she rejoined the group, pushing her hair from her eyes. “I felt…” She trailed away with a worried look, but Blake knew what she had been going to say. _I felt your pain through our Bond._

“I just…” She shook her head and hunched her shoulders, very much aware of the fact that they weren’t alone. “He made me think of some things I would have— rather not thought of.”

Yang didn’t inquire further, for which she was grateful for. But she could feel her partner’s eyes boring into her back as they proceeded further into the labyrinth of ruin, asking questions she couldn’t, and didn’t, answer.

 

* * *

 

**_Yang_ **

Gradually, they slowed their pace as the sun began to fall, and pink clouds shot through with gray stretched across the horizon. “It’s going to be dark soon,” Oobleck announced as they stopped outside a huge, broken-down skyscraper, tossing the bags at Yang. She barely reacted in time to catch them, and when she righted herself, she shot an indignant glare at him.

“You three,” he said, sweeping a wide finger at her, Blake, and Weiss. The failing light lit hisglasses to two rims of fire. “Set up camp in that building. And please do make sure there are no more of those creatures. Your leader and I are going to secure the perimeter— come, Ruby.”

 _I wonder if he’ll ask her about her motivations,_ Yang thought glumly, looking back as Ruby folded up her scythe, tucked it into its holder, and obediently trotted after the professor. _And what she’ll say if he_ does. _I know she originally wanted to become a Huntress because of Mom, but after she died, I thought she might reconsider it— but no…_

“Yang?” A voice said, breaking her from her thoughts. A hand— cool, slender, and scarred—slipped into hers; she knew it was Blake’s, and she could feel her partner looking at her, eyes concerned. “Come on— let’s get into shelter before nighttime, okay?”

“Yes,” Yang said, perhaps a bit bitterly, “because the scary things, they come out in the dark.”

Blake’s hand tightened in hers, but she made no comment, and the two of them walked into the ruins and the shadows. Inside the building, shattered glass glinted on the floor, and graffiti scarred the walls— crude drawings of Grimm, or ominous messages proclaiming approaching doom, and even messages cursing the Councils of the kingdoms for allowing this to happen.

Yang started the fire while Blake and Weiss went to smoke out any remaining Grimm in the building. She built a nest of dry wood and twigs, stuffed it with dead leaves, and struck a match from Oobleck’s bag. Fire curled along one twig, flaring red inside, before licking along the rest of it and hungrily devouring the leaves. It blazed up with a roar, instantly sending light filling the desecrated room, and warming her stiff hands.

 _You are fire, Yang,_ her father’s words echoed in her head. _You burn bright, but all fires can be extinguished._

She shook the thought away angrily. _Now I’m hearing things. Way to go, me._ No sooner had the fire begun flaming full-force then Blake and Weiss came back, panting and bedraggled.

“It’s all clear,” Blake told her, crossing over the glass with _crunch-crunch_ sounds. “There was a nest of Beowolves on the third floor, but we took care of them.”

Yang stared into the heart of the fire, the ever-shifting dance of embers and flickering flames. Sparks floated gently upward, popping and fading into the darkness. “Well, that’s good.”

Blake came and crouched next to her, but her eyes fixed themselves on her face instead of the fire. “I know being here is hard for you,” she said softly, too softly for Weiss to hear. “The Grimm tend to bring all your doubt and sorrow and anger to the surface, and feed off of them.” Her voice dwindled and she looked away. “I feel it, too.”

Yang looked up in surprise and whisked through the Bond. Blake’s own uncertainty and sadness, mixed with a bitter despair, echoed back to her, parallel to her own.

“So do I,” Weiss said, overhearing her as she came back and sat next to the fire on her sleeping roll. “This place is horrid. But not all of us were nearly _killed_ today.” She looked pointedly at Blake, who rolled her eyes.

“I told you, Weiss, I’m fine.”

Weiss turned her head away and stared dully into the darkness. The pretense of light conversation fell away, a stark sadness threading through the growing night.

“I hate that he asked us that,” she burst out suddenly, her blue eyes flashing. “And I hate… I hate that I _lied_ to him. It’s not as though I hid the truth. I just— that’s not the only reason I’m a Huntress. There’s so much more to it than that— than upholding some stupid legacy for my father. Because my life and choices— they’re not for him.”

“Yeah, no,” Yang said, nudging a stray coal back into the fire and sighing wearily. “ Me too. I guess… I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either,” Blake said, raw pain in her voice. “I know _what_ I want to achieve, but as for _how_ to do it… I’m lost. I’ve never been so lost.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said bravely, looking at her team, her family’s, faces— Weiss, her eyes more unguarded and pained then Yang had ever seen, and Blake, her face turned away, but her fear and sorrow running through the Bond in a torrent. “We know why we’re here.” She shrank back as they didn’t answer. “Right?”

 

* * *

 

 

**_Under Mountain Glenn…_ **

 

“The preparations are all going according to plan, sir. The train should be ready in a fortnight’s time.”

“Excellent.” Adam ran a careful, considering finger along the razor-edge of his crimson sword. Blood welled, dark and richly red, from the incision, and he wiped it on the material of his gear. “Tell me, Perry, have you seen any— unrest in your faction? Any discord?”

“The Faunus believe in this cause wholeheartedly, sire,” he said carefully, as if trying to gauge what the White Fang secondary was implying. “As do I.”

“Of course they do, you idiot,” Adam snapped at the recruit. “No fool would be opposed to bettering his life. I’m asking you this: do you believe in the means in which we are achieving it? Be honest. I will not fault you.”

“Perhaps not, I’ll grant you,” he said reluctantly. “Though, sir, I have only been in the White Fang for a few month’s time. Not long. Not long at all. Certainly not enough to, as you know, draw a conclusion to any scruples I might have about the matter.” 

“It is Ayran you owe loyalty to, and then to me, should he cease to breathe,” Adam said, sheathing his sword with a _click._ “But not the human Roman, nor his allegiances. You will never bow to a human.”

“I understand, sir, but why—?”

“Am I telling you this?” Adam guessed as the recruit looked pensive, shuffling on his feet. “Because, Perry, it is so common, indeed, that we have Faunus defectors who feel that to live a meaningless, inconspicuous life among humans is better than fighting for their people. But I know that you will make sure that no one will… _stray,_ as it were, from their positions. Won’t you?” His tone held a hidden threat, and the lackey looked suddenly apprehensive, as if realizing how explosive a nature lay underneath Adam’s deceptive calm.

“N— no. I mean, y-yes, sir, of course, s-sir.”

 

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

Adam turned away with a rough shake of his head as Perry scurried away into the darkness of the tunnels. Perhaps this was the right way to achieve triumph— perhaps not— but either way, he could not shake the grim certainty that _something_ would go awry, because humans always, _always_ ruined everything.

He slashed out with his blade furiously, roaring, striking a red flash through the darkness. A strangled squeak, followed by silence, met his ears. He narrowed his eyes, seeing the small body of some cave-dwelling Grimm flop to the floor and fade away.

“Cool it, kiddo. We need all the Grimm we can muster without you venting a little temper tantrum on them.”

“What are you doing here?” Adam snarled, recognizing the coolly amused voice of Torchwick as it echoed through the cave. He stepped out from the shadows moments later, his bottle-green eyes glittering with dark humor.

“Monitoring. Lurking, you could say. Watching those Faunus you say are _‘loyal’._ And sometimes,” he smiled, swinging his cane with a lazy laugh, “Wreaking a little havoc.”

“I didn’t agree to this mission,” Adam snapped coldly, baring his teeth in fury at Roman’s display of laid-back amusement. “You are a lucky human, Torchwick, that Ayran and I took _pity_ on your master’s pathetic whining and decided to ally ourselves with you and Cinder to make the White Fang stronger. Otherwise…” He let the sentence trail away, his voice lowering to a menacing growl.

But Torchwick didn’t look fazed. The humor fled from his eyes, and quick as a bolt of lightning, he snapped the hook of his cane around Adam’s neck, forcing him to meet his eyes. Scarred gray met dark green.

“ _You_ didn’t take pity on anything. The decision of allying was forced upon you by Cinder. You had no choice but to accept it. You are only another _tragically_ misunderstood animal, Taurus, however megalomaniacal you may be inside. You would do well to forget you are _not_ in charge here. And as for your little rise to power…  _It_ can wait. _I_ will take care of it. And _you_ will not tell me how to run this project again. Am I understood?”

Adam stared Torchwick right back down, not intimidated. It took all of his willpower to nod his head, and not snap the thief’s neck like a twig.

“There’s a good boy.” The grin returned, and he patted Adam roughly on the head like a dog, quickly moving the offending hand away before Adam could slice it off with Wilt’s blade. “Now come along. You can help the other mongrels load up cargo. Maybe it will humble you. Though I doubt it.”

 _Oh, it’ll humble me, all right,_ he thought darkly, stalking after him into the shadows. _Right along with choking the life out of your pathetic body. Right along with every other human as arrogant and self-indulged as you._

_And right after I find that pathetic traitor, Blake, and cause her a hundred times as much pain as she left behind._


	28. Chapter XXVII - The Sword and the Anvil

“You are wondering I have called you here, and it is I who thanks you for coming, Glynda, James, and Qrow.” The latter named was slouched by a pillar, his ruby colored eyes narrowed, reflecting the window. There was a freshly puckered wound on his throat, and his face was sallow and bitter, drawn with sleeplessness. His eyes weren’t clouded with the mist of intoxication, for once, but in soberness, they were hardly better— they glittered with anger, as hard as chips of flint.

“Sober— what a surprise— and _wounded_ ,” growled Ironwood, breaking gruffly through Ozpin’s silvery words. “How’d you get it, Branwen? Because Ozpin here isn’t speaking… what say you?”

“What are you flapping your gums on about now, Jimmy?” Qrow snapped, clearly in a bad mood and not to be trifled with.

“Your _scar_ , Qrow, your valued scar. How’d you manage to get injured this time? From a drunken fight, was it?” Ironwood’s voice held a note of derision. “Or another failed assignment?”

“A fight? ‘Course not. You thickheaded, metalskulled idiot, you think I’d charge so heedlessly into a fight?” Qrow swayed a little on his feet and laughed, a harsh, grating sound like a rusty knife scraping against stone. “No. Not directly. It was a run-in a bit of time for a man in a spot of trouble. I took a blow for a Huntsman down there, a great man— one of the few. Saved his life, you know? I saved that man’s life. You're damn right, I value it."

“As you should.” Ozpin’s lips thinned as he glanced at the general. “Peace, James. Qrow, hold your tongue. I’ve called for a reason—”

“Yeah, well,” Qrow growled, tipping back the thin flask with a flash of anger, “seems you just want to talk in more riddles instead of doing a damn thing to keep Remnant from being destroyed.” Qrow hooked his thumbs in his pockets and snarled viciously, something feral and cold behind his eyes. “What’s it gonna take, Oz? A call from the good _gods_ themselves? Or do you have to look into the eyes of more dead citizens to finally quit assuaging your guilt, to take a different course that might screw over your nice ’n tidy plans?”  

Goodwitch’s eyes flashed as she brandished her riding crop in Qrow’s direction, jabbing him unflinchingly in the chest. The Huntsman’s eyes went to dark slits. “Qrow, don’t you dare speak as if you have any authori—”  

“Hold your peace, Glynda.” Ozpin rose and faced the iridescent window, shoulders falling as he looked out over the campus, dark and peaceful in the night. _Not for long,_ Ozpin thought, sadly; _no peace, no matter how absolute, will ever last forever. If she taught me anything, it is that._ “He’s right.”

“He has no idea what’s going on,” Ironwood growled, rolling his shoulder with a pained glint in his electric blue eyes, “because he’s been drinking into oblivion instead of doing his duties. Tell me, Branwen, where _is_ our Spring Maiden running off to this time? She’s _your_ sister.“

“Shut it, Jimmy, you overgrown infant,” Qrow snapped, and Ironwood’s face curdled in a look of hatred. “I’m not Raven’s babysitter. No idea where the hell she’s run off to, nor do I want to. I’ve told you time and time again that she’s a ticking time bomb. Everyone she touches she ruins. You really want that influence here again?”

“Her influence doesn’t matter, or her crazy ideas of dark and light!” Ironwood spat, before making a visible effort to calm himself as Ozpin gave him a warning look. In a tone of forced calm, he faced Qrow. “You _must_ find her, Branwen. We can’t risk having her attacked, especially with the assailant now even more powerful and dangerous than before. It’s bad enough as it is, facing this; there are so many unknown variables. God knows—”

“She left her own daughter after looking her in the eyes,” Qrow said softly, dangerously. “What makes you think that she would give a single care to a world that’s rejected her a hundredfold?”

“Her wounded pride isn’t what’s at stake here,” Glynda said, though her tone lacked maliciousness, and Qrow bristled at her. “It’s _hope,_ Qrow. Life itself. Would you sacrifice a whole world for your kin?”

“Ah, _life._ How kind of you to broach the topic, Glynda.” Qrow’s eyes glittered like a cat’s. “Much as I hate to break such a cordial discussion with the grown-up topics, it’s gotta be done. Enough about my sister. Ozpin.” Qrow turned towards the headmaster with the shadow of a snarl on his face. “Go on, you have some explaining to do.”  

“I’ve already told you what shall happen because of the… conditions fettering the transfer of the Maiden’s ability. I know the one who shall be our inheritance for Amber’s powers.”

“Our _inheritance_?" Disbelief rang in his voice. "That’s bull, Ozpin! The innocent fool of a kid that you pick is only your pawn, and you know it. If you’re gonna blight some bright-eyed, bushy-tailed student with your fanatic ideals of just sitting in the shadows and letting things run the course until we’re all choking while she steps on our backs in her race for chaos— “

“ _Enough,_ Qrow! You’re being detrimental when it was your job to watch over Amber in the first place, and you failed! _That_ is why she is little more than a corpse right now! That is why we’re here.”

Qrow recoiled as if he had been struck, his eyes furious. “Funny that you talk of jobs when it’s you who’s making all the mistakes. Ozpin, you’re the fool who’s going to use more innocents to fuel your plans. Who is it now?” he demanded. “Which student has your high and mighty self handpicked to be the next sacrifice?”

Ozpin looked down and away, any anger fading, to be replaced with something very like sorrow. “It’s only a suspicion, Qrow. But it’s not your nieces.”

Some of the fire faded from Qrow’s gaze, replaced by a darkness deeper than the night falling outside. “Yang mustn’t know. Must _never_ know of the power my sister holds. It’s only a matter of time until she figures out _why_ she abandoned her; we all know a petty lie won’t hold out forever. Raven is— was— irresponsible in having her child with Taiyang, and it was only the destructive power that the Maiden’s curse bestowed upon her that persuaded her to give them both up.”

“Her and Summer both.”

Qrow turned his head, spat on the ground in a gesture of more misery than anger. “Two in one. You know very well that Amber’s soul, and the Autumn powers, will have total sovereign over whoever you chose. You’re essentially damning an innocent —  Oz, there’s every chance that whoever you pick will die in all practical senses.”

“I know the ramifications,” Ozpin said, and there was anguish in his voice. “There’s no other choice. None. None at all. If I could do it myself, I would in an instant, but—”

“Only a young woman may bear the mantle of the Maiden. I’m aware. And Ruby,” Qrow said abruptly. “You haven’t told her about— her eyes, her hidden skills, have you?”

“She may be like her mother, Qrow. She may not. But if she truly does have powers that lay latent within her, she may be our final hope. We cannot do anything to alter the course of fate. Let things run out how they may, but you cannot force these things. The silver-eyed guardian must arise in her own time, and her own way.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

Qrow was silent, and Goodwitch let out a heavy sigh as Ozpin turned back around, new lines creasing his face. “Meanwhile, we must look to other horizons, to secure ourselves. James, the militaries must be ready to bear arms at a moment’s calling. And you yourself must make sure to be … _loyal._ Loyalty always.”

Ironwood’s voice was surly, sharp with reproachful resent and anger. “The fealty I’ve rendered to you for years— _years,_ Ozpin— isn’t the question here. If you mean to tell me—“

“It is _not_ what I am asking, James.” Ozpin rose, eyes glittering. Wind stirred his hair, the chill of the air stiff in the room. The shadowed dapples of the gears darkened his face. “I have had your backing for as long as you have led the militaries. But even the wisest can be corrupted through manipulation. The enemy we face is a master of it, as intelligent and cunning as any tyrant can be. She alone could defeat Amber, a master of combat, and inspire mountains to sway to her side. What makes you any different?”

“You’re suggesting that _I_ could be led astray.” Ironwood’s eyes were narrowed, gaunt cheeks taut.

“I am not suggesting that it is merely you that could be persuaded, but every person, every innocent. Peace breeds violence, James; times of no change bring about the greatest storms, ribbing the sky and sapping love from the world. Blind trust has led many fools to their demises. We must take every step, every reassurance, to ensure that evil does not walk unfettered into our midst. No matter what the cost.”

“But even so—“

“Remember the seasons, James,” Ozpin said, eyes two slits of gold. “Without one, the other cannot exist. Remember the nature of your world, whence you came, James.  Where there is colour and form, where there is warmth as well as cold.  Remember this and, before we fight, know that without night there is no day, without lies, no truth, without despair, no hope.  Beware above all of hate, but call to its opposite too.  For all things have an opposite and, if you choose it, with will and care, you may turn one thing into its reflection. We _must_ ensure the safety of the people.  You must trust me to do what needs to be done to protect Autumn and her sisters, and then down to Ruby, the smaller soul. So it is that we must make sure they are safe… whatever the cost.”

“The cost,” Ironwood exhaled, looking decades older, his face lined and weary. “Sometimes it is too much to pay.”

“Our victories may seem like defeats as they come. Amber’s comatose state is one, but it’s a small mercy that her power is at least partially intact. Another is that the borders hold strong still. But no matter what lives lost, souls torn asunder, we cannot hesitate, cannot let fear overcome hope. Our hope must be our light, our beacon, as strong as a star in the darkness, as unwavering as the earth itself.” He turned to the night sky, storm clouds gathering far off in the distance, the stars slowly fading as darkness swallowed them.

"Only when we lose that will she truly have won."


	29. Chapter XXVIII - Stars Shine Darkly

**_Blake_ **

 

Night lay pressingly upon the ruins, and the moon was full, half-swallowed by clouds. Blake stared out at the shafts of silver that poured through the roof onto the dusty floor, tempered by firelight. She was cold, down to her bones, and the sleeping bag didn’t trap any warmth that would alleviate the chill.

She closed her eyes and sighed, trying in vain to grasp at some semblance of sleep, but it eluded her. So, when Yang’s hushed voice rang out moments later, she gave up entirely.

“Blake? You awake?”

“Yeah, I am.” She yawned and brushed her fingers over the silvery dust on the floor, feeling it swirl away from her touch, in tiny motes that danced like stars in the shafts of moonlight. “But I shouldn’t be, and nor should you.”

Yang sounded puzzled, sad; the Bond surged with doubt and sorrow. Perhaps it was from both of them. Either way, she was far from certain in herself. “Why do you think the professor asked us about why we wanted to be Huntresses? Like, what was he trying to say to us?” 

Blake sighed, rolling over to meet her partner’s eyes, which reflected orange with the fire’s light. _I wish I knew, but all I am certain of is that I have no idea what I’m going to do._ “Maybe he was just curious, Yang.” 

Yang didn’t sound convinced. “You think?

Blake gave a disgruntled noise after a pause. “No, I don’t.”

Her partner gave a gruff sigh, flopping back on her sleeping roll and letting out a breath. “Weiss, are you awake?” 

“Of course I'm awake!” Blake flinched as Weiss snapped. “You two are talking. And I think he…” She sighed between her teeth. “When I said I wanted to honor my family's name, I meant it. But— it's not what you think. I'm not stupid. I'm fully aware of what my father has done with the Schnee Dust Company. Since he took control, our business has operated in a... morally gray area.”

Blake snorted. _After Ayran and Adam fighting your father’s company, I saw how corrupted it was up close, certainly._ “That's putting it lightly,” she said out loud, trying to pass off the break in her tone as she remembered killing a man from the Schnee Company, remembered his blood coating her hands and his pulse fading beneath her skin. An echoing voice breathed in the back of her head. _Just how many people have you killed, Blake?_

“Which is why I feel the need to make things right,” Weiss said hotly, shattering Blake’s thoughts. “If I had taken a job in Atlas, it wouldn't have changed anything. My father was not the start of our name, and I _refuse_ to let him be the end of it.” 

Blake slumped back onto her sleeping blanket, feeling suddenly very, very drained. “All of my life,” she said softly, her heart fluttering in her chest, “I’ve fought for what I thought was right.” She could see Yang watching her sadly, and she knew her partner could feel the crippling misery within her. “I had a partner, once— named Adam. We were… close because of the circumstances in which we had met— two young Faunus, both manipulated in our organization. For a while, anyways. And Adam… he always assured me that what we were doing would make the world a better place. But of course… his idea of a perfect future turned out to be not perfect for everyone.” She closed her eyes, images flashing through her mind’s eye. _A dead, lolling corpse, a surge of Faunus swirling through a peaceful rally, voices raised in hatred and fury, two scarred eyes._ “And so, I joined the Academy because I knew that Huntsmen and Huntresses were regarded as the most noble warriors in the world; they were _always_ fighting for good. But I never really thought _past_ that. I just needed to get out of there, as soon as I could, and anything beyond that could wait. But now— when I leave the Academy, what will I—” She took a deep breath, fighting down the choking wave of horror that threatened to close over her. “How can I undo so many years of hatred towards the people like me?

Yang’s voice was clearly shaken, but she reached over and clasped Blake’s hand. “I _know_ you’ll figure it out. You're not one to back down from a challenge, Blake.” 

Blake jerked away and sat up, staring numbly into the darkness. “But I am,” she whispered. “I do it all the time! When you learned I was a Faunus, I didn't know what to do, so I ran— you _saw_ it, you chased after me but I still stayed away! When I realized my oldest partner had become a monster, I ran! Even my semblance— I was born with the ability to leave behind a _shadow_ of myself, Yang. An empty copy that takes the hit while I run away, again, and again.”  

Silence met her words, but she could feel Weiss’s worried eyes drilling into her back, and she could feel Yang’s desolation. 

Yang spoke at last, her words low and faltering. “At least you two have something that drives you. I've just kind of always— gone with the flow, you know? And that's fine, I mean— that's who I am. But how long can I really do that for?” Blake looked over, eyebrows knitting together. _You never told me that’s how you felt…_ She let the thought die away, knowing questioning her girlfriend wouldn’t accomplish anything.

“I want to be a Huntress… but not really because I want to be a hero. It’s just because I want the adventure. I want a life where I won't _know_ what tomorrow will bring, and that'll be a good thing… but being a Huntress just happens to line up with that.” She sighed heavily, propping her chin on her elbow and looking at Weiss, before returning her gaze, sadly, to Blake. “I’m not like Ruby, you know. She's always wanted to be a Huntress. It's like she said— ever since she was a kid, she dreamt about being the heroes in the books. Helping people and saving the day, and never, _never_ asking for anything else in return. Even when she couldn't fight, she _knew_ that's what she wanted to do. That's why she trained so _hard_ to get where she is today.” 

Weiss shifted and glanced outside, before lowering her voice. “Well, she's still just a kid.”

Blake shook her head, and let out a breath through her noise. “She's only two years younger, Weiss. We're _all_ kids.” 

“Well, not anymore,” Yang said suddenly, sitting up and placing her hands on her knees. She raised her eyebrows at the two of them. “I mean—look where we are, you guys. We’re in the middle of a warzone and armed to the teeth! That’s not what an ordinary seventeen-year old is doing.”

“It's the life we chose,” Blake said softly, leaning against Yang’s side. Her partner stroked her hair comfortingly.

“It's a job. We all had this romanticized vision of being a Huntress in our heads,” Weiss said firmly, meeting both of their gazes in turn. “But at the end of the day, it's a job to protect the people! And whatever we want will _have_ to come second.”

 

* * *

 

“Your turn for watch, Blake! Brrr. It’s awfully cold out there.”

Blake looked up as Ruby scrambled into the shelter with a clatter of shifting rubble, Zwei bounding in after her. She yawned, shivering with cold and rubbing her arms as she burrowed into her sleeping bag. Blake glanced at the fire before grabbing Gambol Shroud, reluctantly uncurling from the warmth of sleep, and she walked to the watch-site.

As she sat down gingerly on a plank of broken wood, she heard crunching footsteps follow her before a warm weight sank down beside her, making the structure creak and sway ominously, but it held.

It was Yang, yawning widely and rumpling her hair. Blake raised an eyebrow questioningly at her. “Does the concept of sleep mean nothing to you?” she asked softly.

Yang put her hand over Blake’s. “It’s cold and I _can’t_ sleep, I’m too nervous— and spooked about earlier. So I thought I’d come and keep you company.”

“Your presence is welcome,” Blake said drily, and Yang nudged her. “No, really. It’s cold out here, and I don’t like being up alone with these thoughts.”

“So,” Yang said bluntly after a pause. “You talked about Adam. Are you okay?”

Blake looked away silently with a shrug, and Yang sighed.

“You’re my partner and girlfriend and we’re Bonded, which is supposed to be forever. But more than that, you’re my best friend, and it hurts me to see you so doubtful.” She gave a thin smile. “And obviously, it hurts me when _you_ hurt, because I can feel it. And I know you’re sad about Adam right now, and you’re wondering— wondering if any of this is your fault, wondering if you’re weak for not knowing what the future holds, wondering _how_ you can change a legacy of hate.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “How did you—”

“I know you,” Yang said simply. “And I know you can do this. If it means enough to you, you will figure it out. Have faith in yourself! And don’t let what you _aren’t_ sure of hold you back. As for Adam, do you know the kind of courage it takes to escape the situation you were in? You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met, you know.” She clasped Blake’s hands between hers. “Don’t doubt it for a second, Blake.”

Blake lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, light as the brush of a feather, a weight lifting from her shoulders that she hadn’t even known was there. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For everything.”

Yang leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, her breath cool and gentle. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. Everything will blow over eventually. And I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“ _But,_ I also love sleep, especially on a night like this, so I’m going to go do that,” she added, before winking. “Stay vigilant. You wouldn’t want Zwei to sneak up and snuggle you, would you?”

“Get out of here, Yang,” Blake grinned as Yang turned and scampered back into the reach of the firelight. She turned her head and looked up at the moon, feeling more comforted, feeling a little more certain.

_Does it truly matter if I have doubts? It is not as though everything is doomed to fall because I am uncertain of the future. And sorrow can be good, to remind me of the happiness I have felt. Can anyone really say they know the exact path that they will take forward?_

_I can just wait and do my best to keep Yang safe, and follow my heart. That is all I can ask of myself and of my Fate, in the end._

 

* * *

 

**_Yang_ **

Yang yawned, blinking tiredly as she crawled back into the abandoned building from her turn at watch. The fire had died into a bed of cooling embers, casting a cool red glow through the darkness. Blake was snoring softly and Weiss was murmuring in her dreams, and as she saw them sleeping, her own exhaustion rushed back. She stretched with a groan. “H-hey, Weiss,” she yawned, “it’s your turn for—”

_Wait._

“Ruby,” she muttered, realizing it even as she said it aloud. Her sister’s sleeping roll was empty and rumpled. “You guys— where the hell's Ruby gone off to?”

A low bark answered her, echoing through the compartment before a small shadow galloped in, resolving itself to be Zwei as it moved into the firelight. Yang crouched down, noticing how his ears were flattened in fear, rock dust coating his fur, his tongue panting in apprehension. “Zwei?” she said softly, her own heart starting to pound. “Zwei, where’s Ruby?”

He gave a worried bark before giving her palm an urgent lick.

Blake had roused herself at Yang’s first word, and now she stood, looking apprehensive and eerie as the firelight cast shifting shadows over her face. “Yang, what’s going on? Where’s Ruby?”

Oobleck had clearly heard their voices raised, for he dashed in, looking irritable. “What’s all the fuss about?”

“Doctor Oobleck— Ruby’s missing—”

Weiss scrambled to her feet at once, looking aghast. _“What?”_

“Grab your weapons,” the professor said, cutting into their worried rabble, looking determined— for the first time— truly like a Huntsman ready to swoop in and fight. “Your leader may be in trouble.”

 

* * *

 

Yang stared down into the shadowy, seemingly endless pit. Weiss approached from behind her with a startled inhale of breath.

“Do you think she fell?”

“Fell?”

“Down there,” Weiss said quietly, looking into the darkness with terrible fear in her eyes.

“Of course!” Oobleck said after a beat, his voice loud and angry in the darkness, startling Yang away from the void. “Oh my. Of course! Of course, _of course!_ ” 

Blake’s eyes were huge in the shadows, bright with concern. “What is it?

Oobleck was circling the pit rapidly and shaking his head. “How could I be so _stupid?”_

Yang’s voice rose sharply. _I’ve got to stop him before he works us up into a damn panic._ “Dr. Oobleck, what's _wrong_?”

Oobleck shot over to her with startling rapidity, his eyes flashing sapphire behind his glasses. “Mountain Glenn, my dear girl! Think: an expansion of Vale that was inevitably destroyed by creatures of Grimm! It was previously home to thousands of people— working people commuting to the city, the _main_ city— they developed a subway system to the inner city— Grimm attacks increased— now the population is in danger, now desperately searching for shelter— the city evacuates into the metro tunnels and what do they find? _The southeast quadrant of Vale is known for wild forests and deep caves!”_

Yang stared back at him, ashen. _Ruby, please, please be okay…_ “Doc, what are you saying?” 

He sprang away. “My dear, we're not just looking for an underground crime network, we're looking for a literal _underground_ crime network!”

Blake’s voice was stunned. “You don’t mean to tell me that the White Fang— they’ve been working in _caves_?”

Oobleck shook his head, lips pursing as he hovered on a broken slab of rock, staring intently into the pit. “No, no, Blake. Mountain Glenn was Vale's first serious attempt at expansion. It worked for a short period of time, thanks to an aggressive perimeter defense, and unique transportation; the city developed an elaborate subway system to carry citizens safely from the new territory into the main kingdom!” He sighed heavily. “Sadly, without the many natural barriers Vale had to protect its borders, Mountain Glenn was doomed from the start! As the end drew near, the citizens of the territory made one last attempt at survival: They took up shelter beneath the city! In massive caves that they had cleared out for the subway. And they had cut themselves off from the surface!” 

Yang was bemused. _He never taught us this. Selective history class, what a joke…_ “Are you saying it was like an underground village?”

“In a matter of speaking - yes. A safe haven. Until... an explosion opened the mouth of another cavern, filled with subterranean Grimm. After that, the Kingdom officially sealed off the tunnels, and the citizens that had not escaped perished by the Grimm or starved to death… creating the world's largest tomb.” His voice grew grave as he reached for his thermos, pressing a button as it elongated into a staff. He brandished it against his chest and looked down into the darkness grimly. “If she fell, and is down there where the operations are going on, then that criminal Torchwick _must have_ gotten her. We will have to hurry.”

Yang’s breath hissed out between her teeth. “That _ba_ — bad man,” she finished, with a quick nervous glance at Weiss, who rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, then. I don’t care if it’s a freaking catacomb or if the entire population of Grimm in the world is down there. I’m not letting anyone hurt my sister again.”

And without a single backward glance, the four of them plunged into the depthless pit.


	30. Chapter XXIX - A Bleak Heart Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sequel is a definite thing. There’s already 79 pages, an ironed-out plot, chapter names, five completely done chapters, tidbits and other stuff, and 30,000 words of it in a google doc. It’ll come out sometime in late August, so be on the lookout for it then!!!
> 
> Also, heh, please don’t kill me, but we might not actually see the Yang vs. Neo fight. It was too difficult to fit it in there with word count and pacing, and I didn’t have any changes planned for it, so assume what happened in canon happened here.

 

**_Yang_ **

**_  
_ **

“Follow me, children! Do not hesitate to retaliate if we are met with resistance!”

Yang thundered along after the professor, Blake and Weiss hot on her heels. Her gauntlets were primed and ready to fire, and her blood ran cold with the icy fire of battle. _I swear, if he’s hurts my baby sister, I’ll stick a knife where the sun doesn’t shine…_

Yang’s head snapped up as she heard gunfire shatter the silence. Automatically, she leapt in front of Blake, and Weiss sprang in front of her, using a shield of ice to deflect the bullets. Oobleck roared and tendrils of fire shot out from his thermos, wrapping around the shooters— White Fang guards— with menacing light. In unison, they crumpled, screaming as they caught fire. Oobleck, Yang, Blake, and Weiss raced past them, but Yang’s stomach nearly upset itself as the awful stench of scorched, burning flesh wreathed the air and the screams from the Faunus guards slowly died into silence. She dared a look back, and saw Blake’s eyes full of some emotion she could not name.

They plunged further into the twisting labyrinth of buildings. The further they went, the less resistance they were met with, until they were flat out running across tracks and broken glass.

But at the end of an alleyway, a line of four guards stood with guns at the ready, four barrels of darkness leering at the four of them. They looked startled, before anger froze their faces to stone. “Humans,” one of them snarled, before pulling the trigger.

As he did so, just over the gunshot, Yang thought she could hear a shriek— a _familiar_ shriek, high pitched and angry, tumultuous in the darkness. _Ruby?_

She roared in anger, dodging the shot from the White Fang lackey and firing her own with a condensed explosion. Fire imploded outward, blasting the guards with shrieks of agony into the sides of buildings; as they fell limply to the ground, Yang saw a flash of rose petals and silver, before a heavy weight crashed into her. She hugged her sister close, spinning her in joy. “Ruby, thank _God—_ I was so scared…”

“Are you okay?” Weiss asked, her face ashen.

Ruby slid from Yang’s embrace, taking Crescent Rose from Blake’s outstretched hands as she did so, and glancing reassuringly at Weiss. “I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t worry.” She loaded her weapon before looking up, steel in her gaze. “Listen. They’ve got Androids, mechs, all sorts of weaponry— all loaded up on the train-cars!”

“What?” the professor said, looking flabbergasted. “That’s impossible— the cars don’t _go_ anywhere, the tracks lead to a dead end.”

“It’s Torchwick, doctor— he’s behind this, I don’t know _what_ he’s doing, but—”

At that moment, a sharp drone of static pierced the air, making Yang wince. There was a sound of creaking gears, and the acrid scent of smoke filled the cavern. _‘Everyone get to your places. We are leaving now!’_

Yang cast a glance full of disbelief at the professor. “Well, it sounds like they’re going _somewhere!”_

Ruby fumbled for her Scroll. “We need backup. Let me call Jaune!”

 _If I needed urgent backup I wouldn’t exactly call him,_ Yang thought, but her heart wasn’t in it; she felt panic well up in her chest as Ruby’s Scroll flickered with a crimson message of failure, her face growing somber in the red light.

“I can’t get through— there’s no signal down here.” She stuffed her Scroll away, clicking a button on her scythe as it flipped out into its full form. She stood in the front of them, looked back as Weiss’s voice rose in alarm. “Well, what do we do?”

The professor stood beside her, planting his staff in the dust with a grim look on his face. “My dear, I believe we only have one option.”

Yang cocked her gauntlets, looking over as Blake drew her sword and Weiss spun her rapier in her hand. Finally, Ruby crossed the scythe in front of her chest, looking ahead with a cold expression on her face.

“We,” she said softly, every syllable taut with determination, “are stopping that train.”

 

* * *

 

Yang scrabbled up the ladder, landing with a _huff_ on the top of the train. The dripping stone walls, stalactites and spires piercing downward, rushed past in colors of brown and gray, and she staggered to get a good footing.

Oobleck pulled himself to the top of the train after her, his eyes blazing. “Hurry, children! We must get to the front and stop this train!”

Weiss, who was up ahead, kicked open a hatch on the train and looked within. Yang felt a pang of distress as her eyes visibly rounded in alarm, and she jogged over, and looked inside. A shining chrome mechanism lay within, a glowing time-dial on its face, red and blue wires curving around the ends of it. The time dial’s face was blank— for now.

“Er, professor—”

“ _Doctor.”_

She shook her head irritably and jabbed a finger down to point at the hatch. “What’s that?” 

The professor kneeled over, and his sallow cheeks tightened as he glimpsed the contents. “That, my dear,” he said worriedly, “appears to be a bomb.” 

Yang reeled back, her own alarm doubled with Blake’s as the Bond shivered in fear. _A bomb? But that would be counterproductive, wouldn’t it? What the hell…?_

However, Ruby’s voice cut into her thoughts, shrill with alarm. “We’ve got baddies!” She pointed forward, to where, far away but fast approaching in the shadows, a thick crowd of snarling Faunus were drawing near. Dozens upon dozens of them, masks glowing white in the dark, the glint of unsheathed blades and guns visible even in the darkness. 

Oobleck shook his head and gripped his weapon harder. “Well, I didn't expect them to go—” He stopped short as a tinny _beep_ sounded underneath them. Yang looked down in horror to see the bomb dial begin counting down from _30_. 

 

_29._

 

_28._

 

“—easy on us,” Oobleck finished in resignation. “Time to go!” He flung a hand out towards Blake as they all took to their heels. “Blake— detach the caboose! It will kill us all!” 

 

_23._

 

_22._

 

_21._

 

Yang saw her partner’s face contract, and it wouldn’t be until later that she would realize the implications behind it— cutting a train car loose, as she had done so long ago— but for the moment; she couldn’t worry about it; she flung herself over the gap and landed on the next train car as Blake dived down to the connecting cable. 

 

_10._

 

Yang stopped as she heard a cry echo up from below. “It decoupled itself!”

She leaned back over with the professor, looking down at Blake’s face, very pale and frightened in the shadows. She would never accuse Blake of being a coward, but her fear seemed almost— magnified. Like being on the train was doing something to her distress, making it grow and grow. And it infected Yang just as swiftly though the Bond until her own heart was pounding with the seconds of the bomb. 

 

_3._

 

_2._

 

_1._

 

The explosion was far behind them, but it still sent a boiling, rippling wave of heat blasting through the tunnel, a mushroom cloud of roiling black and amber fire echoing with a _boom._ Sunlight flooded in, but it was fast moving away, and it felt like they were plunging into the dark maw of some creature rising to swallow them. “I guess he _really_ doesn't want us on this train,” Yang said, before reaching down and helping Blake haul herself up to the train’s roof. 

“That’s not good…” Oobleck muttered, almost to himself, glasses reflecting the red light. 

“Professor! Neither is this!” Ruby howled across the whistling chasm, pointing into another open hatch. 

Blake’s voice rose in pitch, bouncing eerily off the walls and shrieking with the wind. “ _Another_ bomb?”

Yang stared, stupefied, as Oobleck launched himself across the gap to the next hatch, prying it open with a grunt and staring down in horror. He whipped around, a gust of wind nearly knocking him over. “They _ALL_ have bombs!” 

Yang opened her mouth to reply before a loud beep rang out under her feet, announcing the soon-to-be detonation of the bomb beside them. She took Blake’s hand, shouted ‘come on!’ before pulling her over the gap. They landed hard, rolling, and clambered to their feet. 

“This doesn’t make any sense!” she spat in confusion and terror, seeing that there was now no room between them, and the White Fang members advancing towards them. A Faunus at the lead pointed at Yang and snarled, bared teeth glimmering white in the pallor of shadows. 

_“Get the humans!”_

Yang activated her gauntlets, feeling the slide of metal on metal as they extended out, forming a golden chrome shield over her wrists, her forearms, power surging through her veins. Perhaps doubt had wracked her earlier, in the ruins of Mountain Glenn, but here, she knew she was meant to be a Huntress and this was where she _belonged:_ with an enemy looming near and the power of her wellbeing just at her fingertips. Here, she was in charge of her destiny: not some long-forgotten ghosts or doubts. 

Almost in slow motion, she charged at an approaching Faunus, narrowing her eyes before throwing a punch towards his face that would, surely, be the last one he ever felt. The force of her blow cracked into his jaw, sending him hurtling off the train with a yowling scream; there was no time to watch him fall, because more enemies were taking his place just as swiftly, roaring in anger. 

Almost in perfect synchronization, Yang fell into a flanking position with her partner, both of them defending each other’s backs. They circled each other like lionesses, letting their anger that surged through the Bond turn them both into a spinning fury that lay waste to everything around them. They fell step-in-step, sending the many— but poorly trained— lackeys plummeting to their deaths, or knocking them to where they lay, wounded, on the train tracks. If Blake had any qualms about bearing arms against those who were formerly her people, she didn’t show them, and her blade cut through the air just as viciously as Yang’s fists. 

Yang paused, panting with exertion, as another explosion rocked the tunnel, a blast of heat streaming over her as fire roared through the tracks. But this time, she could hear Oobleck’s shout of concern, and she turned around, narrowing her eyes at the gaping hole in the tunnel’s roof.

Dark shadows fell down through it, one after another, flooding into a churning dark tide. Yang realized what they were a heartbeat before Oobleck shouted it out loud.

“He's leading Grimm to the city!” 

Weiss staggered up behind them, her eyes huge with disbelief. “ _What?”_

“It's the cars,” said Professor Oobleck urgently. “They detach and explode, creating openings for the Grimm!”

Blake sounded completely stricken. “That’s insane— I, _why—”_

Another car decoupled itself, cutting her sentence off as it drifted down the tracks before bursting in a fiery conflagration, killing a herd of Death Stalkers that had been thundering down the tracks. 

“We have to hurry,” Oobleck said decisively, setting his jaw before sweeping a broad finger at Yang, Weiss, and Blake. “You three, you _must_ go below and try to defuse the bombs, if you can, or set about stopping whoever is at the controls!”

Yang nodded swiftly at him, before whipping around and curling her fingers on a hatch-handle, wrenching it open. She waved Blake and Weiss through, making sure they landed safely within the dark belly of the train, before following herself, hearing the resounding _clang_ as the trap-door shut, sealing them within the shadowy interior. 

 

* * *

 

**_Blake_ **

She stared around the all-too-familar contents of the train car— the cargo, the grooved walls— and let out a hissing sort of breath, half-expecting to see a Droid, or even Adam, stalking towards her with menacing intent from the shadows. She shuddered, trying to push away her alarm. She couldn’t afford to lose herself in the panic of her past— it wouldn’t only hurt her, it would hurt Yang, too, and they all needed to be at the top of their focus right now. 

“Well,” Yang said softly, her voice echoing around in the train… _well… well… well…_ “I guess this is what we trained for.” 

Blake looked over swiftly as a flicker of movement caught her eye. It was Weiss, holding out a cartridge with three vials of Dust: silver, amber, white. “Here. This should help you.”

Blake gave her a grateful nod, sliding the cartridge in Gambol Shroud, and bringing the weapon down to her side. The three of them broke into a jog, feet clattering on the metallic floor, before— just as they were halfway— a shape dropped down from the ceiling, blocking their way.

Blake recognized her immediately, recognized that oddly sinister smile, those mocking two-toned eyes. It was Torchwick’s ally. 

But she wasn’t looking at Blake or Weiss. Her smug look was directed at Yang, those eyes as cold as a winter wind. The way she was smirking made Blake’s lip curl in anger, but she sensed the energy that crackled like a tangible storm through the air, and deliberately turned her head, knowing it wasn’t her fight. 

“You two go on ahead,” Yang growled, almost as if hearing Blake’s thoughts. “This one's mine.”

Blake shot her an anxious glance, but she knew Yang well enough to know she wouldn’t thank her for her worry. She took to her feet, racing lightly down the length of the car, and sent out a silent thank-you to Yang for firing a shot to distract the opponent as she and Weiss reached the end of the car and leaped through the open door. 

The gully between train-cars yawned beneath them, ground hurtling past in dulled, blurred colors. They didn’t have much time before the train reached the end of the tracks, and the door slid shut with a click of finality as they both landed. The next car was full of shadows and coldness, but it was not empty. 

Blake’s breath caught in her throat as a very familiar figure lumbered from the shadows, a menacing chain saw rattling in his scarred hands. Corded muscles rippled underneath his skin as he approached them at a lazy saunter, a leer curling his face.

“Ayran,” she breathed. “You’re working with them to the death, then.” _Why am I not surprised?_

“Blake Belladonna,” he said almost conversationally, stopping the center of the train as the three of them all paused, measuring each other up. “With a Schnee, I see. I always knew you’d turn out a traitor.”

 _This is not my fight,_ she realized as she saw his cruel eyes zero in on Weiss, a hostile, cold amusement waking inside them. _He hates the Schnees more than anything. They’re human and I’m… just a pawn that went astray. Because when it comes down to it… I’m like him._

“But how fitting to kill you both,” he snarled suddenly, his rusty voice frosty with hatred, before advancing. “I will _enjoy_ it.”

Blake spat in fury as she and Weiss sprang forward as one, weapons extended. “You go on ahead!” Weiss shouted over the din of screaming metal before she lunged forward, engaging Ayran in breathtakingly quick combat, every movement blurred with speed.

 _He’s dangerous, Weiss,_ Blake thought, only stopping to aim one strike at him before taking to her heels and sprinting forward. _For my sake, stay safe._

The door slid open as she ran for it, and she leaped through the gap with one terrifying glimpse of ground whipping away below her. Then all was silent in the final car, where one final opponent lay in wait for her.

He smiled as the door shut behind her, closing off her escape route. “Hello, darling,” Roman Torchwick said casually, eerily echoing the words of a boy she had once loved more than anything. “How curious to see you back on this train… though I would imagine it is hard to be here, isn’t it? Back among the White Fang, bearing arms against your people?”

“They’re not my people,” she spat, wincing, realizing she’d taken the bait as he laughed.

“Of course. I know that. You ran away months and months ago; that charming boy who serves the bonehead leader, Ayran— what was his name? Adam? He told me as much. Right after he told me how he was going to rip you limb to limb.” He rolled his eyes. “He was quite boring, to tell you the truth. I can almost get an inkling why you ran away from him. He has no sense of subtlety, really.” Torchwick cocked his head and gave her a glitteringly cold smile. “Or perhaps, not any longer. He has changed, my dear. Does that bother you? Or do you know it?”

Blake’s throat closed up with terror. _He wants revenge on me. He didn’t forget. I feared… I didn’t think it would be true…_ “You use your words to mock me because you are afraid,” she said, trying to discreetly activate her weapon with the Dust chamber so he wouldn’t notice her doing it.

“Maybe so. Maybe so. But I think we both know that isn’t true, _Blake._ You’re here to fight me, aren’t you?” He spread his arms wide, gloved fingers beckoning her tauntingly. “Give it a shot. I’d love to watch you fail.”

She felt a cry of rage leave her throat before she forgot the first lesson she had ever learned from Adam: she charged without an attack plan, blind with fury. His grin morphed into a snarl of glee as she darted at him, and he lifted his gun, ready to fire.

But the Dust aided her more than she thought, and while an ordinary shadow clone wouldn’t have done anything, this time it erupted in flames. She had the good sense to lunge upward as it exploded. The shockwave propelled Torchwick up into the air with a throaty shriek, and as he fell, she lashed out a few well-placed blows and struck him in the chest.

He snarled and shot a round at her as they landed with loud _thuds_. She dodged it, whirling around before sending out another shadow clone. It instantly hardened into stone, taking the shot as stone shattered around the car into shards, clattering with tinny _clangs._

He swore loudly. She capitalized on his frustration and leaped overhead, beating him with a flurry of attacks as he dodged with more mixed cursing and cries of rage. As he raised his cudgel in wild anger, she took the opportunity to use her final Dust cartridge— the ice one— and leave behind a statue of herself, a perfect form of glittering ice.

Alarm glowed in his eyes as his weapon was caught in the center of it, frozen stuck. A grim smile on her face, she lunged backward, lifted Gambol Shroud, and brought it down.

A shockwave rippled with the force of it, blasting down the center of the train-car, shattering the ice replica and sending him flying backward. She plunged forward as he slid down from where had flown from the force of the blast, groaning in pain, and planted her foot square in the center of his chest.

“No,” he coughed out, blood trickling from his nose. “You wouldn’t do it.”

There was a crystalline ring as her sword cleared its sheath, and she leveled against Roman’s throat, her teeth bared. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cut your throat right now, you lying coward.”

To her surprise, he didn’t even look the slightest bit scared. Instead, he laughed up at her— a grotesque sight with the blood. “Darling, don’t you think you should quit lying to yourself? We’re on the same side, Blake, and you know it. I saw you at the rally. _You’re one of them._ The White Fang. And you always will be.”

She snarled at him, unable to think of a retort, of a defense, of something, anything, to convince him that he was wrong, she had left forever… she was never going to go back, had never reconsidered… but all she could do was stare into his eyes, so cruel and devoid of light, just like _Adam’s…_

“You think your secret is that you want to be a monster, that you will turn yourself into one just like that old partner, that old love of yours. But I will tell you the true secret, the darkest secret,” he said, and his voice rose, turning into something exultant and not quite human. “ _You already are.”_

 _“No!”_ she screamed in a guttural cry, bringing her sword down like a spark of fire in the darkness. She felt it strike flesh and heard his screech cut short, blood instantly tainting the air with a metallic stench.

Her night vision kicked in. She had not killed him, only cut a shallow gash across his chest. He moaned feebly before stirring, green eyes bright with pain.

“Prove me right,” he rasped, his voice rusty as blood slowly spread in a red tide across his skin. “Kill me, then, Blake. And be like a monster. _Prove who you are._ ”

She bared her teeth— and heard a door slam behind her before the sound of a crash echoed through the train car. _This is too familiar,_ she thought, turning in slow motion and feeling her heart stop as she saw Weiss skid to a halt, unconscious and bleeding, and Ayran— Ayran was advancing on her, his face full of a terrible glee, his eyes flashing with two terrible promises.

“Finally,” he snarled. “The culmination of the two things I hate the most in one place, how fitting. The human and the traitor.” He slowly walked forward, dragging his chainsaw with a rattling buzz across the floor. “And how fitting that I will _slaughter_ you both. I will enjoy watching you _bleed._ ” 

Blake kicked Torchwick in the jaw as hard as she could, feeling him gasp as he went limp, unconscious. She sprang away from him and slid her arms under Weiss, giving one last look of blazing fury to Ayran. “I left your twisted plans long ago, you monster,” she spat. “And you will _never_ have me back! You will never take away anyone I love again!”

He threw his head back and laughed, on and on. It was a rusty, horrible thing that she was sure would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life. “Let me tell you a secret, daughter of nightshade,” he purred finally, fixing his green-amber eyes on her. “Your father made his choice long ago, and as for your partner— Adam came to me _willingly._ It’s your _fault!”_ His voice rose to a roar, and she saw the true insanity, the madness, glittering in his eyes. “All the death! All the heartbreak! All the _pain_! Everywhere you go, you will be cursed, Blake Belladonna! I swear to you, for as long as you may live, and as long as human and Faunus are divided, you will _never_ find peace wherever you may run!”

Choking with agony, Blake secured her arm around Weiss— and raised her gun, steeled her heart, and jammed her thumb down on the trigger, firing a bullet straight into his heart.

The shot blast echoed through the car with a horrific _BANG,_ and he staggered back as her aim made true, forward and direct into his chest. A choked gasp escaped his throat and his eyes flew wide. “You hurt me,” he whispered hoarsely, his hand going to his chest, where blood slowly started seeping out. “You really hurt me. You— Belladonna— would _dare—”_

“I swore once that I would make you pay,” she whispered lowly, her chilled voice dropping to an octave. “Don’t we all get as good as we give, Ayran? That was for my father. You murdered him, I know you did— and now it’s your turn. This is for every nightmare and all the lives you made living hell, including mine.”

This time, she didn’t look as she shot at him again, straight into his skull. She could hear him, though, hear his scream as it cut abruptly short, hear him crumple to the ground with a thud of finality, one nightmare come full circuit, one nightmare now closed— _forever._

_Just how many people have you killed, Blake?_

She allowed herself a few heartbeat’s time, only a moment’s worth, to gaze at his slackened face, his eyes— once terrifying and piercing— now glazed, clouded with death, some essential light missing from them. Her gun was two bullets lighter and her heart was several years heavier as she saw the blood of death trickling from his mouth. Now with the life, the animation, gone from his rough features, he seemed… different. She could see the younger shadow of a pained Faunus there, but only just. His madness and greed had transformed him into a true monster years ago. Nothing could excuse his actions, or ever make her forgive him. 

_I killed you, Ayran. And now, as a consequence of that, Adam… he is leader of the White Fang now, by my hand, just as you predicted so long ago… and you were right in some twisted way, weren’t you? But I killed you for my father, my mother, Khione and Adam, and everything I gave up in your insane crusade for violence and chaos. Your life and strength were misguided as any and in the end, I can only pity you. Hail and farewell, Ayran of the White Fang. Now… and forever._

She shuddered, slipping her arms back around Weiss and securing her, before gathering the last of her strength and shooting up— straight up into the roof, feeling the shattering of glass, before shadows swallowed up everything.

 

* * *

 

**_Yang_ **

The cave walls rushed past as Yang stumbled out from the freight car, her whole body aching like a giant bruise. Her head spun with all she had seen and all she _thought_ she had saw— had the red sword been there, the flash of dark hair, or had she been seeing things?— but she knew she could not think on it now, not when the ending of the tunnel was rushing towards her with the promise of death.

Several cars ahead, she saw the roof of one train-car bulge before exploding outward. A dark shadow flitted out with it, and Yang, upon realizing it was _Blake,_ sprinted forward. _She’s okay. Oh, thank God, she’s okay._ But the Bond was singing with pure pain and horror, and Yang could see stunned fear in her partner’s eyes as she drew close. Weiss staggered up as she stopped next to the two of them, drawing Myrtenaster.

Blake’s head snapped up as Yang staggered over, bleeding and bruised. “Are you okay?” she asked, standing as well, running her hands down Yang’s arms. Satisfied as Yang nodded shakily, she drew away with a short breath of pain. “Torchwick is down for the count. And Ayran is dead. I - I killed him.”

Yang gaped at her. “You— _what?”_

Blake flinched, but there was no more room to speak of it, because just then, Ruby ran up to them, panic in her eyes. “We’re about to crash!”

Blake’s voice rose in terror. “What do we do?”

Weiss looked around at them, exchanging a steeled glance with Ruby, before raising her rapier, shouting defiantly, before plunging it down— and with a screaming, grating noise, everything went suddenly, horribly white.


	31. Chapter XXX - Ad Lucem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the finale, and then a hiatus, and then.... the sequel.   
> God, I'm excited. It's actually a lot more fun to write the sequel than I expected, and I've got a lot of twists planned, as well as writing for a multitude of characters... mm. Qrow's by far my favorite, followed by Blake.   
> Fun fact: the sequel has over 40k words right now and I haven't even finished chapter four. So it's going to be _long._

**_Blake_ **

 

_There is darkness and pain._

_Then there is light, white and blinding, and a high scream that goes on and on. An alarm, perhaps, blaring frantically. Heat, rippling over her in a scorching tide, and smoke, burning as she coughs and coughs and coughs, her body trying desperately to rid her of the poison she’s inhaled. Sharp shards gouging into her flesh, a pair of hands shaking her roughly, a voice calling out… Blake… Blake… Blake…_

“Blake!”

Blake’s eyes snapped open and she coughed, her throat rough with dust and smoke, a stinging pain at her temple. Yang was looking frantically down at her, her weapons drawn. “Come on, get up, please,” she said, her voice pleading. “The Grimm are everywhere— we need your help.”

Blake drew her weapon and staggered to her feet, bounding off the slabs of broken concrete and onto the greasy grass that edged the road. “It’s what we trained for.”

She found herself back to back with her team, surrounded by a massing, roaring sea of Grimm. Faces snarled back at her— Beowolves, Death Stalkers, Nevermores, King Taijitus, Ursai, Boarbatusks, Creeps and all sorts of dark, howling creatures…

She brandished Gambol Shroud, furious as they all lunged as one, white claws flashing towards her. She pictured her home, her _family,_ being threatened by those claws, that danger… and let her anger turn her into a spinning fury of flying bullets and slashing strokes.

She had only just plunged her sword into the roaring maw of a Beowolf before she yanked her blade back, whirling around with a slash, removing the head of an Ursa that had been leaping for her. There was no time to think or plan, only to act or die… and yet she knew that despite her best efforts, she was slowing and that they were being overcome by the sheer amount of Grimm. She saw Weiss disappear under a throng of tramping Creeps and saw Ruby lunge desperately to get to her— she saw Yang being set upon by a flock of Nevemores, before pain spiked through the Bond— and she coughed, black blood on her palms… 

 _This is it,_ she thought dimly. _I guess we couldn’t defeat them after all… Yang, Ruby, Weiss, I’m sorry… for failing, for not being enough..._

Suddenly a cheerful scream pierced through the fog in her head— a _familiar_ voice, coming from high above. “Head high and spirit up, Blake! These Grimm aren’t gonna burn themselves out, ya know!”

Blake’s head whipped around as she saw none other than a certain Nora Valkyrie streaking down from the sky, whooping joyfully as she rode Magnhild. The Huntress and her hammer smashed into an offending Death Stalker that had been scuttling towards Blake.

Blake’s heart began to pound with hope as she saw the other members of Team JNPR flood into the square, cutting through the throng of Grimm with lethal intent. There was Pyrrha, whirling and darting and slashing like a crimson tornado— Ren, tearing off the head of a Creep while using the rebounding force to kick a Nevermore into the side of a building— Jaune, making a brave attempt of his own and actually managing to slay an Ursa.

“Good fighting!” Nora said, chipper, giving a nod of acknowledgement to Blake before tearing off through the square in a roar of pink fury. Blake, impossibly, felt herself smiling before renewing her fight. The ache in her muscles seemed to fade, the fog of exhaustion clearing with new adrenaline.

 _I am a_ Huntress _. I will_ not _give up, and I_ will _defeat whoever threatens my home!_

She found herself back to back with Yang once more, both of them tag-teaming and giving a looming King Taijitu no mercy; Yang fired deadly rounds into the great unblinking eyes while Blake used the distraction to open up bloody wounds along its scales. With a hiss of fury, it faded into thick, dark smoke, carried away on the wind.

“You okay?” Yang panted, retracting her gauntlets and turning for a second to face Blake.

“Never better,” she said fiercely, flourishing her sword. “Let’s do this thing.”

“Yo, lovebirds! Wait for us!”

Blake’s eyes snapped to the right as she heard a yell cut through the din, and she grinned as she saw Sun and Neptune silhouetted on the sidewalk below a building. They both ran into the fray with identical cries of battle, bearing their respective staff and trident— and she felt another pang of hope. _Six Huntresses and four Huntsmen. We_ can _do this._

_We must._

Yang shot her a determined glance, conveying all she needed to in a single look. At once, they charged as a team back into the fray, cutting a deadly wake into the Grimm. Slashing, hacking, plunging their way into a melee of red eyes and black ichor and dark fur; Blake let out a cry of anger and spun in a full circle, taking out five Ursai in one lethal slash of Gambol Shroud. As they collapsed and faded, Blake heard a great roaring above her head, and she looked up in alarm.

A fleet of dark military airships blotted out the sunlight, and as she watched, eyes wide in surprise, they dropped their load. A rain of military robots fell from the sky, guns at the ready, and in the middle of them was a group of five who were not robots— Blake let out a little gasp of mingled shock and joy as she saw it was the elder team, team CFVY, and Professor Port with them.

_Oh, thank the stars. We’re saved._

She and Yang had gotten separated by then, overwhelmed by the reeking tide of Grimm, but Blake found herself pushed alongside Sun in the center of a circle of Grimm.

“How are you doing on this ever-so-peaceful day, Miss Belladonna?” he grinned, finding the energy to be playful amidst the throng of violence. He spun around, gasped in exertion, before roaring as he swung powerfully muscled arms up and brought his staff down in a broad arc, cracking down on the head of a Beowolf. It let out a wail of pain and fell on its side, smoking away in dark smog.

“Well enough, though I'd rather be reading a book, personally,” she said, wheeling around to shoot a bullet at a Creep that had been about to lunge for him. “Yourself?”

He spat blood onto the ground with a ferocious grin. “I’ve never felt more alive,” he said, before he spun his staff into a gun, shooting rapidly at a Boarbatusk. “By the way, your girlfriend looks like she’s in trouble. You should probably help her.”

“Thanks, Sun,” she said, firing another bullet into a Death Stalker before springing back and frantically looking around for Yang. There she was, cornered by a herd of Ursai, holding her own— but they would soon overwhelm her if she didn’t get help.

Blake was far enough away to see immediately that there was no way she could make it in time. Panic quenched the feeble hope in her heart, and she couldn’t tell whether it was Yang’s, thrumming through the Bond— or her own. Her ears flattened in terror, pinning flat to her skull.

But then an emerald-colored streak hurtled out from between two buildings.

Blake watched, taken aback, as the stranger tore into the ranks of Grimm, guns slashing about with blooms of bright green light. In moments, all the Grimm lay dead and faded; Blake’s ears shot up in surprise as she realized the stranger was none other than Emerald Sustrai— a foreign student visitor from Haven Academy, Sun’s school, here for the Vytal Festival tournament.

As she watched, Yang and Emerald began to exchange words. Blake took off, racing to get to Yang, and as she approached, she gave Emerald a grateful glance. “Thank you for helping her.”

“No problem,” she said gruffly, holstering her guns. “It wouldn’t be right, leaving someone to get eaten, now would it?”

She sprang off into the fray once more, leaving them to stare in shock after her before exchanging glances.

“Are _you_ okay?” Blake said, parroting Yang’s earlier question.

“Shut it, kitten! We've got a battle to fight!” Yang darted past her, laying into a Death Stalker. Blake joined in, stabbing it in the eye, and they both called greetings as Weiss and Ruby joined them, the four of them falling into a perfect defense-and-offense tag-team.

Ruby fell from the thrashing tail of the Death Stalker, scythe flashing in a crimson blur. As she plummeted downward, she swung out Crescent Rose’s blade, slashing off the poisonous golden barb of the Grimm.

It let out a shrill squeal of agony as Weiss plunged her rapier into the soft skin around its neck. With a wheezing groan, it folded over and collapsed, fading to dust.

The mingled roars and screeches of the Grimm horde had faded into silence by then. Blake looked around the square in shock. Their numbers had swelled from the four of them to sixteen Huntresses and Huntsmen, along with the legions of Atlas soldiers. And the Grimm… they had all been slaughtered, leaving behind only a bitter tang of acrid smoke on the air.

“We did it,” she rasped, her eyes sweeping over the square. “We… we defeated them.”

Blake felt Yang come up beside her, slipping her hand into hers. “I knew we could,” she said softly. “Look, there.”

Blake’s eyes shot over to the raised platform in the square, where an Atlas airship had descended and now was humming softly. Outside, Emerald Sustrai and a tall boy with metallic hair had Torchwick pinioned between them. He looked furious, his green eyes crackling with anger, a bruise swelling his cheek where she'd kicked him. As she watched, he tossed back his head and spat, seething his words between clenched teeth. 

“Finally caught,” Blake murmured. “As he should be.”

“Agreed,” Weiss said quietly, sheathing her rapier and nodding in their direction. “Our mission’s complete. We did what we came to do: bring peace again and stop the evils under the earth.”  
  


* * *

 

“God— I’m so tired I feel like I could sleep for a hundred years.”

Blake looked out over the landing pads, to the glittering lake in the distance. The sun was setting, and the water was dazzling, sparkling like a trail of diamonds into the mountains. She idly stroked the golden waves of Yang’s hair as her partner rested her head on her lap. “Yes, well, after the all-consuming euphoria burns off, you’re bound to feel a bit exhausted.”

Yang yawned. “W— what now?”

“I’d suggest getting some sleep,” Blake said, stifling a yawn of her own. “Before we both keel over. We need rest, there isn’t a whole lot of time before the tournament, just a few weeks…”

“Yeah, I can’t wait to go back to Patch before the tournament. Dad makes some mean cookies, after he decided we couldn’t live off of microwavable macaroni for the rest of lives and he got off his butt and learned to cook decently…”

Blake frowned, crestfallen. “I’ll miss you. How long will you be gone?”

Yang shifted her head to look at Blake, brows furrowed. “What? No! Dad said that you’re coming too! And Weiss! Didn’t I tell you?”

“No, as a matter of fact, you didn’t,” Blake said with a laugh. “Forgot to tell me, did you? I'm not surprised.”

Yang stuck out her tongue. “In any case, you’re about to meet the ‘rent. So I’d prepare for that… I’m sure he’ll be tough on you. Only joking,” she added hastily, as Blake’s eyes widened. “He’ll love you, just like I do.” She curled closer, and Blake smiled at her.

“That’s good to hear.”

“Hey, you two!”

They both whirled around as a loud shout echoed out over the courtyard. Ruby and Weiss were standing in the distance, waving at them. “Come on! You can be all soppy later!”

Blake glanced at Yang. “Do you think they’ll come after us if we don’t obey?”

She groaned. “Probably. Let’s go.”

And as one, they turned and jogged back to the open arms of the school, where their team and family was waiting.


	32. Chapter XXXI - Call it Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a white-rose chapter. Not quite romantic and it's important to character development, and necessary for the sequel. If you don't like WR, then grit your teeth and endure; or skip to the italics. ;)

 

**_Weiss_ **

 

“Ruby, where on earth are you taking me?”

Ruby paused. Her fingers, which were across Weiss’s eyes, concealing her view, twitched in excitement. “You’ll see, I swear. Not much farther now.”

Weiss let out a huff of impatience, raising her hands to remove Ruby’s fingers from her eyes, but her partner slapped her hands away lightly, and Weiss protested, more out of habit than pain. “Hey!”

“Just wait, okay?”

Weiss sighed, frowning, but allowed herself to be led on. She could feel brittle grass brushing her legs, waving stalks of wildflowers perfuming the air; a cool wind whipped her hair back, snapping in silvery waves. The air was brisk and faintly touched with the smell of berries. She got the impression that they were high up— though why they _would_ be, she couldn’t imagine. Ruby had never seemed like the type to stop and appreciate nature, unless it harbored a Grimm of some sort.

Finally, Ruby stopped her, and lifted her hand away from Weiss’s eyes. “Okay, we’re here. You can look now.”

Weiss blinked, squinting from the sudden change of complete darkness to blindingly bright sunlight. The trees all around them were gold and amber, and the sky was a beautiful cerulean, wispy clouds drifting across the great sea of blue. A cliff dropped away sharply about ten feet away, tapering to a narrow point. At the point, a single, solitary tombstone rose like a lonely monolith above the sea of grasses. Ruby was looking at it with an expression of sadness, a bittersweet sadness that tore Weiss to the core; it was a shadowy look that she recognized whenever she looked in the mirror.

She walked closer, bypassing Ruby, close enough to see the words inscribed on the surface that was weathered by years of being there.

> _Summer Rose;_
> 
> _Thus kindly I scatter._

The detailed image of Ruby’s crest, the rose, was carved below those six words with a chilling starkness. Weiss swallowed with a shudder and looked back at Ruby’s sorrowful face; her partner had her hands tucked in her pockets, posture slouching.

“Is this…?”

“Yeah,” she said, her young voice quieter and more serious than Weiss had ever heard it. Her silver eyes rested on her partner with such an intensity it made her shiver, almost uncomfortable. “It’s, ah, my mom’s grave. A memory, really. There wasn’t a body to bury, but we… I wanted a place to remember her by. My dad calls it the the Cliffside Altar. But to me, it’s really just… a place where I come when I need to think, you know? I don’t think of it, like, as a sad place or a fancy memorial, or anything… it’s just… makes me feel like she’s… beside me again. I don’t know.”

And strangely, Weiss _did_ know, despite their differences. She had never known her own mother, Ivana Schnee; she had died in giving birth to Weiss, and her father, Vincent, seldom spoke of her. When those rare incidents _did_ occur, he was usually surly and restless for hours afterward. And Winter… Winter never spoke of her at all.

Weiss realized, suddenly, that none of them— Ruby, herself, Blake, and Yang— had mothers. They were all on their own. Ruby's mother had been killed in action. Weiss's mother had passed in childbirth. Blake's mother had been murdered callously for knowing too much. Yang's mother had abandoned her. 

“I’m sorry,” Weiss said softly, her words open and sincere, and Ruby walked up beside her, leaning over and tracing the words on the gravestone with one lingering touch.

“Thanks.” 

“It’s a bit mad, though,” she said, straightening up and passing her gaze over the trees, the sunlight falling through them, highlighting every vein within each leaf. “To think of all that has change that’s happened in these past few months, isn’t it?”

“Like what?”

“Well— becoming a team, going on insane missions, bonding together, Blake and Yang being what they are, the Vytal tournament drawing closer…”

“I’m happy for Yang,” Ruby said, her voice amused. “She’s my big sister. And if Blake makes her happy, then it makes me happy, too. I like Blake. She's a good partner and a good friend, and they're great for each other." 

Weiss was surprised to feel herself smiling— albeit a small smile, but a smile nevertheless. “I would say they’re more than happy, but yes, I agree.”

“You know, it’s so funny to think that just months ago, none of us could be in a room together without fighting and now we’re… a team,” Ruby said, her brows crinkling thoughtfully as she brushed strands of dark, choppy hair from her face. “A really good team.”

 _A family,_ Weiss thought. She wasn’t one for sentimentality, but it was true, she knew— truer than anything. _We’re a family, all of us. You and I, Blake and Yang. All of us are. And I couldn’t be more grateful for it._ But she didn’t voice it out loud. Instead, she looked sidelong at Ruby, feeling as though there were some topic both of them were hedging about, both afraid to be the first one to broach it.

So Weiss did, because she had never been a coward. And perhaps it was true that they all need some bluntness in their lives once in a while. Who was to say that truth always had to end up badly? 

“Ruby,” she said. “Have you ever thought about Bonding?”

“Maybe a little after Yang mentioned it to me,” Ruby said cautiously, but her eyes said the opposite, reflecting back silver. “Uhm. Why?”

“You’re aware that it’s not uncommon for partners to do it.” It wasn’t a question, but rather, a statement.

Ruby’s eyes were as round as the setting sun, completely taken aback. “Weiss, I— Do _you_ want to Bond?”

Weiss flushed, and struggled for a reply that wasn’t forceful and sharp, but didn’t sound too vague, either. The wind stirred the grasses with a fluid rustle, making it sound as though a valley of a thousand echoes were whispering through the air. A voice almost seemed to breathe on the breeze, gently cajoling. _Say what you need to say…_

With a gust of spinning leaves, it was gone, leaving her wondering if it had ever been there at all. Ruby was still watching her, puzzled, and Weiss bit her lip.

“Name of Remnant, I’m going to kick myself for this later.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Ruby, every moment with this team and you has been an— _incredibly_ wild journey. Exasperating, exciting, exhausting— everything I can think of. But I know… I know…” She shook her head in frustration. That wasn’t right, either. “How can I say this? What I mean is that… I trust all of you more than anything. Blake, Yang, and you. And Lord knows we’ve had our ups and downs more than once. Ups and downs… that doesn’t even begin to describe it. But I didn’t come here expecting to be close to you— any of you. And yet, I find myself knowing as surely as I know anything that… that I would risk my life to save any of yours. And isn’t that, at least, grounds for a Bond?”

Ruby nodded. “You’re right,” she said decisively, looking a little taken aback at Weiss’s speech, for she didn’t often make them. “So, uh, Yang… didn’t go over the specifics of _how_ she and Blake, well, _did_ it—”

“It’s all right,” Weiss said, feeling her cheeks heat up at the sudden awkward turn. “I know how. My fa— Winter told me.”

Ruby’s eyebrows rose as her words. “Fawinter?”

“Shut up.” 

“Okay, okay, geez.” Ruby bounced on the balls of her feet before looking up. “So, uh… here we go, I guess. What’s gonna happen?”

Weiss looked out over the horizon, the sun stinging her eyes. “The Bond shares my memories with you,” she said quietly, feeling a flutter of fear in her chest. “And because memories tend to be blurred with emotion, dampened by the weight of what you feel…that, as well, will be a curious trait of the what the Bond entails.”

Ruby, for once, seemed to have been struck silent; she merely watched Weiss with wide silver eyes. It was impossible to guess at what she was thinking.

Weiss rolled her eyes. “Hold out your hands,” she said, barely restraining herself from adding on a characteristic _‘you dunce’_ to the end of her sentence. Ruby complied, looking nervous; she took Ruby’s hand, closing her eyes and trying to remember the words. They rushed back, and she let out a sigh before speaking.

“I give all of my light up to another. I place my trust in my other half; I do this willingly, so that there may always be someone to aid in my darkest hours. I release my strength to show a way through the darkness for my other half; through this, we may become one. I share my soul, and bare my heart to my partner. To the promises that are unbreakable, the Bond that is tempered by fire, I give all of myself to another. For it is in passing that we achieve immortality. Through this, we become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all, infinite in distance and unbound by death.” Weiss felt something, something deep _inside_ of her, break loose and rush away, spiraling down through her veins and draining away into her fingertips, traveling far, far away from her. “I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee.”

Ruby shuddered as a flare of fire blazed up between their fingertips, a burning flame that felt like the gentlest breeze and the fiercest heat all at once. She heard a great myriad of sounds whisper, for only a heartbeat, in her ears: the sound of waves crashing against a distant shore, a child’s cry, a chiming of bells, grass whispering in the wind, the lamentation of a phoenix— before it was gone, and then all was silent.

Ruby’s eyes were very round and silver, and she opened her mouth as if to ask a question before Weiss stumbled, a great throbbing light sweeping over her vision. She felt herself go to her knees. Agony exploded in her head as the force of the Bond struck down. Flame washed over her eyes, fading to leave nothing but darkness. A soft, black tide was rising to engulf her; she made one final effort to get up, but her feet would not support her, and she fell back into nothingness.

_And then, like she is watching a movie film flicker past before her eyes, a picture paints itself in bright blooms of color across her eyes. She can see herself, very little, a small child again. Her hair is short in this memory, a soft whitish-silver, coming down only to her shoulders, and her face still has a certain youthful softness to it— a softness that, in later years, will be beaten out of her with harsh words and circumstances, leaving her as little more than a shell. She is clinging to Winter’s skirts, watching her sister Summon a baby Beowolf. It frolics around the two of them, leaving behind bright wisps of light, like fireflies. It nudges Weiss’s hand and she laughs before it dissolves, as it had never been there._

_Her sister is smudged with feelings of sorrow and disappointment, resentment and jealously, affection and— most of all— love._

_“Winter,” Weiss says, “that’s so cool! Do you think I could Summon kittens or puppies like that?”_

_“Yes,” Winter says frostily, looking down at her with a chill in her eyes. “But to do so, sister, you must kill them first.”_

_The image spins away in a gust of color, before a new one surfaces. It shows her father pacing like a restless, caged animal, his scarred face twitching with a barely-controlled fury. Here, he is so dampened with emotion that she can hardly make out his true features; there’s a blurring of sorrow there, a blurring of terror._

_There’s a blurring of hatred, sharp as knives._

_Weiss, younger, only twelve, watches in fear as he kicks over his desk chair, snarling as if he has gone mad; his tuft of a mustache is twitching with fury. Perspiration beads his brow. Suddenly, the phone in his office begins to ring, and he snatches it up in anger, running a hand through his sparse white hair. He listens briefly to a voice on the line before anger flushes his face._

_“My Dust trains have gone missing all week, you idiot,” he snaps into the speaker. “Every day, another one is hijacked and emptied. The police claim they don’t know who did it; the Hunstman academies are worthless, useless! Julian, leader of the White Fang, is reportedly missing, with a new and a decidedly less cooperative leader in his place, one who refuses to make peace treaties. And to top it all off, two of my best board executives and business partners are missing! I want answers, and I want them now, do you hear me?”_

_A low, indistinct voice rumbles in reply, and Weiss’s father roars._

_“That’s not good enough, I tell you! I will not have the reputation of my company be tarnished because some mutts can’t stop complaining about their lots in life! They must be stopped, is that clear? I don’t care if you have to kill them all…”_

_Weiss, in real time, shivered, and the image of Blake’s furious face crossed her mind._ Oh, father…

_In the memory, her father slams the phone down, the dial tone whining harshly in the air. He picks up a book and hurls it, raging and cursing, at the wall; Weiss ducks out of the way, terror glittering in her wide blue eyes, and runs from the room._

_The memory flits away, replaced by a calmer image; now, she’s in her bedroom. Early dusk light bathes the room in a warm red glow, turning her eyes to a light amber, her hair to peach. She isn’t doing much— just standing in front of a gleaming mirror, looking into the glass; she is blurred with disillusionment at herself._

_But she doesn’t_ see _herself, not really. She doesn’t know who she is. She sees Winter, she sees Ivana, she sees her father, Vincent— but she doesn’t see herself. She sees…. a ragged puppet of a girl with no substance. She is all these things— a heiress, a sister, a daughter… but_ who _is she?_

_Perhaps she isn’t anyone at all. That’s all she is… an empty shell of a girl, adopting the personality of whatever suits her best at the moment, like a tempest of hollowness._

_It swirls away like pages flipping past, into a scene of a small room, bathed in dusk light. Now she’s thirteen. She sits, back straight with perfect composure, and her fingers skim over the white and black bars of a grand piano, wringing notes from it. They waver out, crystalline drops of music hanging for a moment before fading into nothing. Her voice joins the music, creating a two-part melody that is at once beautiful and terribly, terribly heartbreaking._

_Her face flashes with a raw pain before she smashes her hands down— lovely, slender hands, unscarred for now, with pianist’s fingers and perfectly filed nails. In years to come, they will become a warrior’s hands. But now, they are as unremarkable as the rest of her. They make contact with the ivory bars of the instrument. The piano wheezes out a discordant, jangling noise; echoes, groaning, a dissonant complaint through the empty shell of a house._

_“Weiss? Are you all right?”_

_In the past, she looks up as Winter enters the room, her military uniform swishing with the_ click-click _of her boots._

_“I am fine.”_

_“Then what on earth is all the noise for?” Winter must see the unspoken anger behind her eyes, for she sighs wearily and crosses the room, kneeling and taking Weiss’s hands from the piano and holding them in her gloved grip. Her sister’s eyes watch her, tranquil and sorrowful. “Sister, I have told you time and time again not to let Father get under your skin. He expects much of you, you see, that’s all. After I depart for the military… he’s written me off as his child, as his blood, you see? I’ve not followed his orders and so he tries to act as though I don’t exist. It’s part of the Schnee bloodline and you must accept that. The sooner you do so, the better, because it will not change, now or ever.”_

_“It’s not fair, Winter. He expects so very much of me. To use my semblance already, to Summon, to fight, to sing, to always maintain my most formal composure, to be intelligent and perfectly composed at every moment… to be so much. It’s impossible.”_

_“He sees our mother within you,” Winter tells her with a touch of despair. “And it upsets him a great deal, that is all. Whatever Vincent’s faults, he did love Ivana, and he lost her because she died so you could live. It’s not your fault,” she adds, forestalling Weiss’s protest, “and you should not see it as such, but in turn, you mustn’t blame him for it. Ivana died for you. Perhaps, in all regards, Father should not resent you for it… but it has soured your relationship, and it likely will always be strained because of that.”_

_Weiss looks away, a muscle jumping in her cheek. “It’s not fair,” she repeats._

_Winter laughs softly, humorlessly. “Nothing ever is.”_

_The memory falls away, shattering; a new one surfaces in its place. It is a dark room, high windows lighting the steel floor. Two figures stand in the center, in a pool of the faint silver light, one of them towering over the other. It is Weiss and her father._

_“Father,” she says, a note of steel in her voice, “I want to be a Huntress.”_

_His eyes blaze with pale blue fire, betraying a true anger. “Is that so?”_

_“I don’t want to be receptionist. I… I appreciate your generosity, Father, more than anything. But being a Huntress calls to me more than… more than this. It is an honorable job,” she pleads as he watches her inscrutably. “I have been practicing privately, with Winter— practicing to fight and defend myself against the darknesses of this world, like the Faunus and Grimm. Won’t you let me…?”_

_“Let’s truly see how capable you are, my daughter,” her father says coldly. His blue eyes rest upon her, as unforgiving and icy as a winter wind; there isn’t a single shred of paternal warmth inside them. “If you so desire to become a Huntress, and not to pursue a job in the family or the military such as your sister, then you must prove yourself worthy of an exploit, and worthy to have my support in the endeavor.”_

_“Of course. Anything.”_

_He unsheathes Myrtenaster and hands it to her, blade outstretched. It catches the faint moonlight, sparking like a star, and he looks down at her before turning away. His angular features, his eyes like chips of ice, his hawklike nose, the unforgiving slash of his mouth— she wonders briefly, despairingly, if she will ever be_ enough— _enough to please him, enough to gain his praise. “You will fight an opponent of my choosing, then,” he says quietly, his voice like knives sliding together. “If you are victorious, then I shall not protest your decision further. But should you fail, then I will hear nothing more of this foolish fantasy of yours.”_

_“Yes, father,” she says, her voice meek. She takes the rapier from him, and it feels right; she feels a surge of determination, hard as stone._

_But then he brings in her opponent and she falters._

_It is a huge, towering robot, made of steely chrome and shining metal. The face shimmers like a disembodied skull, two dark eye-sockets glowering down at her. It draws a massive broadsword that catches the light, glinting dangerously; she feels her heart give a pang of fear, of terror— she has practiced fighting, yes; she is more advanced than most… but this? Can she handle this?_

I must, _she thinks coldly._ I must. I have to. I _will._  

_Her father leaves the room, though she’s sure he will be monitoring somehow— but he will not intervene. Her fate is in her own hands now, her own to mold and shape. She will never depend on anyone. She will never get close to anyone so they can hurt her. And, in turn, her failures will belong to her in full, as will her victories._

_She will make sure the latter trumps the former._

_The robot charges. Most opponents would give a battle cry, some grunt of exertion; but this enemy is utterly silent, except for the clash of metal against the floor. She spins away, reaching deep inside herself. She twists and summons and_ pulls _and then a glyph is whirling in front of her, delicate and precise and graceful. It glows blue and she uses it to propel herself to land a flurry of blows on the robot. It doesn’t even falter, swinging its broadsword out and knocking her down. She regains her feet swiftly, adrenaline obliterating any fear or pain she might have. In its place is only a cold determination._

_The robot wheels back around, and Weiss cries out as the broadsword flashes towards her. She can’t run; time slows, and she is frozen— all she sees is dark silver before a pang of anguish shakes her, ending in a heart-stopping jolt of bloodred light. Agony explodes across her skull._

_Weiss staggers from the sheer force of the blow, losing balance for a moment. When her head lifts, the moonlight grants visibility to the blood running down her face. Her eye is swollen shut, a bloody gash running diagonally across the skin. In present time, Weiss felt Ruby’s shock and sympathy run over her like a crashing wave. For this is where her scar comes from, the only visible one she has._

_In the memory, Weiss launches herself at the robot again. It takes her time and it’s a bloody battle, but she overcomes it eventually. And as she pants beside the still heap of metal, her father emerges back into the room, watching her with a faint flicker of surprise in his icy eyes._

_He stares her down menacingly, his pale eyes unblinking and baleful. “Do you not see what path you are going down, my daughter, my child; do you not see how it pains me to see you throwing away your life this way?”_

_“I know, Father,” she says, and her voice is high and cold like the splintering of ice. She feels very detached, very different, like the Weiss that started the fight and finished it are two different people. She has changed. Changed forevermore. “And, as so, it is my fate to do with as I please.”_

_His eyes narrow, and he lifts his chin. “Very well.”_

_The memory fades to darkness, and the darkness is unrelieved by the smallest gleam of light, like the deepest heart of night. Weiss could feel, presently, Ruby’s fear and uncertainty at the darkness of her past._

_In the memory, a figure emerges from the gloom, blue eyes flashing. “Weiss?”_

_“Winter.” Weiss’s eyes glow from the shadows. “Have you come to say farewell?”_

_“You have changed immensely, sister.” Winter watches her somberly. “And now you’re leaving to get away from Father; however much you claim it is to train as a Huntress, half of your decision lies with your desire to escape Atlas. Do you deny it?”_

_Weiss sucks in a breath before shaking her head mutely, her eyes flickering away, unable to meet Winter’s stern gaze. “I have. I will not lie. But the circumstances, well, you cannot blame me for wanting to—”_

_“The only one to blame is Fate, sister, and that is hardly fair at all.” Winter pulls her into a hug. “You’ll be safe at Beacon, you swear? Learn and grow. Make him see… make him see this is more than a foolish decision of a child. The life we lead has forced us to grow up and mature far sooner than most, and I wish for you to become a full-fledged Huntress on your own terms.”_

_“I swear it,” Weiss says, her voice muffled as she embraces her sister, speaking into the solid warmth and presence of her shoulder. “I promise.”_

_The memory rushed away, this time, but it was not replaced by another. Weiss briefly felt a rushing presence over her body, like the touch of someone’s hand, before she was_

slamming back into her own body, panting hard as a rush of euphoria crashed through her veins. She felt like she could run a thousand miles, fly into the soaring blue heavens, swim a thousand oceans. Her strength and Ruby’s, combined— all of it flowed into her blood, and she saw the world in enhanced colors, felt every emotion Ruby had, whisper through her: every pang of joy, sorrow, love, and trust.

Ruby’s silver eyes were clouded with weariness, opposite of Weiss, but she still looked wondrous as the new sensation of being Bonded washed through her. “So this is what it’s like,” she said. “It’s… it’s…”

“New?”

“Yeah,” she said in wonder, looking at Weiss with a touch of disbelief, as if she were really seeing her for the first time. “Really, really new.”

Weiss turned to look out over the cliff, to where four hawks were wheeling in harmony, soaring through the impossibly blue sky, and the wind whispered over a tomb-marker and two partners giving life to something new. “Perhaps,” she said softly, “newness is just what we all need.”


	33. Chapter XXXII - The First Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That chapter title's important. You'll know why when the sequel is released.

> **_Beacon Tower, post-Breach…  
>   
> _ **

_Ding!_

“Enter,” Ozpin called, not taking his eyes from the hologram map that lay across the broad, geared arc of his desk. But as the elevator doors slid open smoothly, admitting a tall, lanky figure into the spherical room, he pressed a button and the hologram winked out to darkness. His eyes moved upward and a solemn look seized his expression.

The figure’s footsteps were light, clicking in tune with the gears that turned above. “Ol’ General Metalskull thought I might find you up here, so he did. _So._ You summoned me, Oz… what for? You’ve no need of me, especially as I’m about to head off on a _mission_ of spy work for you… more like a suicide trip, if you ask me.” 

“Now is no time for foolish behavior or game-playing.” Ozpin said grimly, and stood, staring down the scythe-wielder with somber copper eyes. “This could very well be a fatal endeavor. If you do not return…” He shook his head, as if banishing the thought. “You _must_ return, Qrow.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Qrow rolled his eyes and knocked back a swallow from his flask. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled and trap shut. It’s the least I can do, huh? Seeing as this lovely peace we’ve been basking in is gonna to go to hell in a handbasket, so you’ve told us… I would have thought after Summer, they’d be satisfied…”

“I have seen them; I _know_ them. There _are_ enemies are out there more dangerous then we have ever encountered thus far… and if we are to prevail, then we must know what we are facing,” the headmaster said, bristling slightly as he gripped his cane, before his eyes softened. “I forget myself. You shall be in greater danger than I for now. I know the journey will be treacherous, and the peril you shall have to face, I can only guess at—”

“Oh, drop it, you lout! You didn’t see them,” Qrow snarled, knowing he was the only one who could talk to Ozpin like this and get away with it. “I’ve been out scouting before. I’ve seen the terror they wreak. I’ve got a better idea of what they can do than anyone! Do you honestly believe that I would let anyone come to power with the cruelty like _they’ve_ got—”

“If you do not return successfully from this mission, Qrow,” Ozpin said quietly, his words weighing enough to cut through Qrow’s angry outburst, “then it is far more than _I_ who shall pay the price, and you know that very well. What is there to be gained? Only thousands of innocent lives!”

“My nieces and their team,” Qrow said in a voice that was more like a growl. “”Surely you cannot mean…”

“They are far more than a _just_ a team,” Ozpin said quietly, turning and looking out the window. “Be it as they don’t know it yet. Fate has a curious habit of tweaking our strings to bring those whom we need together.”

“And you think they just so happened to get their strings tweaked, Oz, is that it?” Qrow’s voice was dry.

“In a manner of speaking, perhaps,” Ozpin said in a measured voice, before he swiveled his head around, regarding Qrow with even, calm eyes. “But you know it’s far more than coincidence that all the pieces are falling together. It’s a manifestation of hope.”

Qrow’s lips twisted in a grim smile. “Team RWBY. It kills ya, doesn’t it, seeing them all together? It’s like the results of all your _failures_ are there, Oz, mocking you, circling you and taunting you. There is Yang Xiao Long, my niece, the daughter of Raven Branwen, the one Maiden who turned corrupt and ran. There is Ruby Rose, not my blood, but just as good as— child of a warrior, the very image of her deceased mother, down to her silver, silver eyes— and who knows— maybe the same explosive power that killed Summer is inside of her, too. There is Weiss Schnee, blood-related to Ivana Schnee, who died as a Maiden, and she is the daughter of a power-hungry tyrant. And then Blake Belladonna, the Faunus with all those secrets, a renegade of the White Fang, the organization that turned away from peace and sought violence instead. All of them have fates that will likely destroy them. And you can’t tear them apart from each other, Oz. The webs that connect them are stronger than blood. Ruby and Yang are family. Blake and Yang are Bonded, and Weiss and Ruby would never separate; you try taking partners away from each other. And Blake and Weiss are two opposite sides of a coin: a Faunus and the daughter of a killer of Faunus. But all of them would die for each other in a heartbeat. Perhaps the ties they have may aid you and perhaps not, but either way, they will not play nicely as the little pawns in your game.”

Ozpin, struck silent by the cold truth of his words, stared into his cup as if held the secrets of the universe. “I never meant for anyone to get hurt, Qrow. And yet she is winning. She is winning because of our own emotions and our own human natures.”

Qrow chuckled rustily. “You, Oz? Human? But of course, you aren’t a fool… you are much more than that.”

“And yet, for all the faults in the world, all the years have not taught me that human nature is an inherently corrupt thing. I have seen many things both great and terrible. But I do not think I am mistaken in opposing… her. And it will take much to defeat her… all our Maidens, our guardians, our Huntsmen and Huntresses…’”

“And my niece.” Qrow pierced him with that ruby-colored stare. “Your so-called smaller soul. If a thing as inconsequential as her _eye color_ can hurt her, well, none of us are safe. And she doesn’t know a single thing about how we’re a damn sight far away from a peaceful world, does she, Oz?”

“I— no. She doesn’t. Not yet. It is far too soon.”

“Point is, pal, she doesn’t know about the enemy. And she _is_ the mother of the darkness, after all, our enemy is. It’s what we stand up for that makes us who we are, Ozpin. I think you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Qrow. I know it. And I am none the wiser. You are right: I am a fool for thinking that I could delay the inevitable. Darkness is coming, no matter what, and it would be just as abhorrent of me to use the children, our only hopes, to stand against it.” 

Qrow’s lip curled in smirking sort of smile, one that bore an eerie resemblance to his sister’s. “It doesn’t matter who you use, my friend. We’re damned anyways. Or… hadn’t you heard?”

Ozpin turned around; stared out the glassine window to where the sun was sinking, sinking in streaks of fire, in the colors of autumn. “We all are poor fools in a pawn's game in the end,” he said quietly, and spoke no more.

 

* * *

 

> **_Downtown Vale, post-Breach…_ **

 

“I can’t believe you saved that girl,” Mercury complained for the fifth time. “It would have been so _easy_ to let the Grimm take a simpleton like her.”

Emerald curled her lip at him, restraining herself from cuffing him around the head. “We need everyone to make it to the Vytal Festival, dipstick; it’s part of the plan. You just want to kill everything that moves and isn’t one-hundred percent arrogant bastard inside—”

“Enough.” Cinder’s eyes narrowed at the both of them, cold amber flickering with annoyance. “She is right. I expect better than such foolish actions from both of you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused in unison, shooting nasty looks at each other. Cinder’s steely gaze held them for a moment longer, before she turned and looked out at the sunset.

“All in all,” she said, her voice smoothing out like the glassy surface of a lake, hiding poisonous creatures below, “I would venture to call today a success. Foolish of Roman, perhaps, and it sets us back slightly… but we were not caught. The plan can still go on without a hitch. The trust that is placed in Ozpin by everyone has wavered. That is a gain, not a loss.”

“But we _did_ lose stuff,” Mercury said sullenly, hedging on a complaint, but not daring to outright challenge Cinder. “A lot of Faunus died in the tunnels thanks to those little brats, wrecking the train. You honestly think the White Fang’s gonna listen to us now? We’ll be lucky to even persuade them not to seek revenge against us, for crying out loud.”

“Yes. You are right in assuming, human, that it would be lucky… for I am _very_ displeased with what your species did to my followers.”

Mercury and Emerald’s heads snapped around as a low, snarling voice echoed from behind them. A broad-shouldered figure approached them in a leisurely saunter, his face chilly and impassive. In the bloodred light of the falling sun, his mask shone like a wound.

“Adam Taurus,” Cinder said, raising her head as he stopped a few meters away from the three of them. “You are leader of the White Fang now. Heavy lies the crown. Much is the burden of others’ wellbeing, is it not?”

His eyes gleamed gray behind the eyeholes of his mask. “Indeed,” he said softly. “You play a dangerous game, Cinder Fall. I only hope you know what it is you think you are doing.”

She smiled, the glint of her teeth like the grin of a wolf before it tore out your throat. “And your people are not pleased, Taurus, are they?”

“No,” he said coldly. “But they will listen to me, as they must; as they are obligated to do so. And as long as I am bound to your will…” His eyes flashed to Cinder; behind the mask, they caught the light so they looked like glittering bits of obsidian. “They will follow you, as well.”

“Perfect,” she said, but she did not seem surprised by his half-hearted declaration of loyalty. “And how curious… your leader was killed. Does that not upset you?”

Adam’s mouth thinned to a hard line, and he was quiet for a long moment before he dipped his head to her. “We all die eventually. And in this world of injustice, some of us die… sooner than we should. He was murdered, yes, but I know that I will have my revenge on his killer in the end. He was killed by a Huntress. A former Faunus of mine, actually… she’ll pay for it, rest assured. I will follow you… just as long as I can watch her burn at the end. If you promise me that, I will hunger for the blood of any enemy, so long as I can make her pay.”

“Is that so.” Cinder did not sound interested, as she only examined her nails before looking back at him with glowing amber eyes. “A good of a reason as any, I suppose. How swiftly does revenge make us eager to spill blood… do you _know_ her, this Huntress apprentice who slew your leader?”

Adam looked at her quickly through narrowed eyes, as if measuring her motives for querying, but all he said was, “You could say that she and I have a… history together.”

For the first time, Cinder sounded genuinely amused. “I see; a past crime that makes you hunger for revenge in future times," she murmured, her eyes as gold as the autumn leaves. "Isn’t there always a past misdeed.”   
  
  


* * *

  
  


> **_The General’s Atlas Airship, post-Breach_ **

****

_Help me. Help me. Help me…_

It was his prayer, his call… his mantra. He, who had never needed help, who had always relied on his on quick wit and ability to evade every danger, was now trapped. Irrevocably shut up. He had never needed _help,_ truly; he’d never been in a situation where his skills were worth next to nothing. But now…

“You can’t keep me locked in here forever, you metal-headed bastard!”

His throat raw from constant hours of shouting and cursing, Torchwick kicked the door, his foot ringing against the steel, sending a jolt of pain spiking up his leg. He knew the effort would prove to be fruitless. No one answered his screams, and no one ever opened the damned door… he was trapped… trapped in a tiny capsule of darkness and stale air.

It was _hell._

He could feel madness setting in, almost, like every hour, every minute, every second in isolation chipped away another flake of his sanity. Maybe this was a part of the plan… but Cinder had left him… Mercury and Emerald had left him… _Neo_ had left him.

And now he was all alone.

Torchwick fell silent as he heard— or he _thought_ he heard _;_ his senses were becoming a bit fuzzy, from being isolated so long in darkness and quiet— the sound of rumbling voices behind the door. His heart leapt as the door gave a great _click-click-click,_ the sound of displaced air shifting as it popped open, admitting light to flood inside. He blinked at the sudden change from shadow to sunshine. It was so bright, so sudden, that it felt as though something were sinking cruel claws into his eyes; he screwed them up, vision blurring as they watered. 

But a shadow fell over him once more, allowing him a bit more lenience with his sight. He cracked open an eye and instantly recoiled in hatred and disgust; the General himself was frowning down at Torchwick as if he were nothing more than an insect, a bug to be squashed underfoot and wiped away, deemed to become nothing but an unpleasant memory. Torchwick despised the man, right from the top of his thinning hair down to the tips of his Atlas-uniform boots, and he knew Ironwood felt the same, for he regarded him as little more than the pettiest of street-rats— a criminal to be locked away and forgotten. They had no love lost between them, and Torchwick didn’t bother concealing the defiant, malicious hatred emanating from his glare. 

“Leave us,” he rumbled to the guards, still eyeing Torchwick with that faintly disgusted and disappointed air, as if he was a schoolboy who had made an error in some way. Torchwick’s hands curled into clenched fists. _I wish you dead, you greedy lout, I wish you would get shot by one of these guards, you simpleminded little b—_

“So…” The general’s dark blue eyes flicked over Torchwick swiftly, as if sizing him up. “The thief king, finally caught and forced behind bars… where you belong.” His voice was smug. “And where, I’m afraid, you’ll stay.” 

“You ought to check your eyesight,” Torchwick hissed. Underneath the pretense of indifference, crackling fury trembled along his words. “Last I checked, _General,_ it was a door closing me in, not bars… though I’m sure I could easily evade bars, just as I’ve evaded your pathetic _‘soldier’_ force. It must be a pretty poor life, training thousands of pitiful-minded idiots and watching them retain nothing, isn’t it, General? Or, oh wait, let me guess, you wouldn’t dare dream that your little boys would ever take on more than an enemy that can’t even think.” 

Ironwood’s face twitched in a flitting expression of anger and Roman smirked. _Me, 1; General, 0._

“It has been tiny flaws on our end— mere happenstance, I assure you— and circumstance, luck of the draw, that you were not caught sooner, Torchwick,” he replied loftily, containing his anger and crossing his arms over his chest. “And, of course, your pesky penchant to use your hiding holes to worm out of tight spots. Now, I have been informed that so far, you have refused to cooperate with authorities. This is why you have been placed in this holding cell… normally we only use _these_ for the worst of criminals, but we’ve made, ah—” his lips spasmed in a scowl, eye twitching, “— _allowances_ in your case. Perhaps if you would work with us more, we would not have to take such drastic measures to force your hand.”

A muscle jumped in Roman’s cheek. He forced down the wave of fury that had risen, unbidden, in his heart, and lifted his head to fix the General with a glare. “Me, not cooperating? Does that honestly surprise you? Did you expect me to crumple like the weak bag of bones you believe me to be? It may be hard to comprehend, _James,_ but I’m not the biggest fan of your little posse of thugs, and I have no intention of obeying your little—” And here, he said a word that made Ironwood’s mouth thin to a sharp line. 

His eyes grew cold. “Posse of thugs, is it? So… that doesn’t daunt you… how about the world’s largest military power?”

Roman sneered at him, savoring the look of a barely-controlled temper on his face. “My first impressions sadly aren’t _great_ , you ba—”

“I’m going to give you one chance, even though you don’t deserve even that,” Ironwood said softly, cutting through Roman’s leer, his hand resting on the pistol-shaped bulge at his hip. “Who is _truly_ behind all this?”

Cinder’s name rose to his tongue, before he thought of how she had promised to release him, one way or another, when the end of all peace came around. And he thought of her fury, the wrath she would behold, if he sold her out. She was too dangerous. He was more scared of her than of Ironwood. It simply wasn’t worth it. His teeth grinding together, he narrowed his eyes in hatred at the General, satisfying himself with the thought that, at the end, Cinder had promised the kill was his to make.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, enjoying the look of hope in his eyes, before he shattered it. “You’re looking at him. _I’m_ the one behind it all.”

But Roman could see that Ironwood didn’t believe him. Regardless, it didn’t matter— he just had to remain unbending, unmovable. That was his only job, for now. And he knew better than anyone how to keep his mouth shut, and how to never speak. 

He had, after all, learnt from the best. 

“Very well, then,” Ironwood said curtly, turning away, his boots clicking on the tiles as he prowled down the length of the hall.

“What’s the matter, General?” Roman shouted, unable to resist one last jibe, straining towards the sunlight. He knew if he tried to escape, a thousand jolts of electricity would shoot into him the instant he crossed the holding cell’s door, rendering him unconscious or worse. “Didn’t you want to talk?”

Ironwood’s voice echoed back, cold and clipped. “The council of Remnant has given me custody over you as long as I see fit, Roman Torchwick. You may as well make yourself comfortable. We shall have plenty of time to… talk.”

Torchwick soaked in the last bit of sunlight he knew he would see in a while, and he felt the madness rise inside of him, bubbling up in unhinged laughter. “Wonderful,” he said hoarsely, “oh, wonderful.”

_I am stuck here until the beginning of the end… And then I will be free, and I can strike him down. I will make him bleed, and each drop of blood will be reparation for my own._

So he did not need help. Time would release him, perhaps; maybe he would be granted a reprieve, or something, anything…

_Help me, help me, help me…_

But his mantra did not fade, and its soft, persistent echoes lined his dreams that night.  
  
  


* * *

 

> **_Island of Patch, post-Breach…_ **

 

“Tai, open the damned door.”

“Go away, Qrow.”

“I _know_ you’re in there,” he exclaimed. “I can see the smoke from the chimney. Stop behaving like a child! I’m not the bad-guy here, and I need to speak to you.”

A snort from behind the door. “Speak _to_ me, but not _with_ me. Unsurprising. You've always been stubborn that way. Will you go away if I don’t open the door or do you plan on lurking here ‘till I do?”

“It’s the latter, I’m afraid to say.”

“Damn you, Branwen,” a voice came, slightly muffled, from the interior. “Fine, then, have your way. Step back. I’m opening up.”

Qrow stepped back calmly as the wooden door flung itself open, chain rattling in the lock. Taiyang stood in the doorframe, a steaming mug clutched in his fist. His eyes were sapphire-blue slits as he regarded his ex-brother-in-law, and his ex-teammate, with a certain amount of wary dislike.

“Why are you here, Qrow?” he said bitterly. “I thought Ozpin was sending you prancing off on some other heroic fool’s errand.”

“Yep,” Qrow said, unfazed by the barbed comment. “He is. I’m supposed to be leaving now, actually… my job is scoping out some enemy or the other… And I won’t be back, probably for a month or so; if it goes well, that is. In fact, I may not come back at all.” He said it lightly, and Taiyang stared at him silently, disbelief swirling in his eyes.

“He’s sending you on a suicide mission, you mean,” he said, aghast. “That’s— I— you _have_ to come back.”

“I’ll do my best, but the perils I’ll be risking are incredible. It’s for Oz, though.” Qrow ran a hand along the silver, winking edge of his broadsword. “Regardless, I expect you’ll have your hands full, with or without my absence.”

“With what? The Vytal Festival? James Ironwood’s got that handled. I’m not worried.” Taiyang’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as Qrow let out a derisive snort. “What’s that look for, huh? He does, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, sure, believe it if you want. I won't drag you into that quarrel. Metalhead will be fine with his little army of thugs. It’s not that, no.” Qrow looked around the house with raised eyebrows. “Your daughters will be here in a matter of weeks. Aren’t you going to tidy up a bit? Well,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “your daughters and their emo and heiress pals.”

Taiyang’s lip curled, coldness returning to his eyes in a heartbeat. “If you’ve only come here to jeer at me—”

“I’m sorry,” he said, eliciting a soft noise of surprise from Taiyang; Qrow never apologized. The scythe-wielder sighed heavily and shook his head, hooking his hands through the loops of his belt-holes. “Really, I am, I just— they’re so very like _us_ , Tai. When we were at Beacon.” He pushed a lank tress of hair from his eyes. “Ruby’s the spitting image of Summer, down to the eyes, and Yang is like you, and her partner is like Raven, especially with the ties to the White Fang, and Lord knows Ruby’s partner has the same barbed tongue I’ve got.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Like damn history repeating itself, eh?”

Taiyang closed his eyes, pain etched into the lines on his face. “I suppose, yes.”

“That’s not what I’m here for, though,” he went on. “You must keep an eye out for dangers, for any odd behavior you see during the tournament. I’m sure an older Huntsman like yourself—”

“I’m not so old I’ve lost my wits, you idiot,” Taiyang snarled. “Spit it out.”

“Very well. You and I both know, Tai, that in the chaos that the tournament brings— well, there will be wrongdoers. Chaos breeds violence. It could well be the perfect environment for our enemy to make their move; it’s what Ozpin’s been saying for months. The whole of Remnant will be watching, expecting peace and unity, and if the opposite happens, well— the whole system could collapse. Grimm everywhere. It’s a risky move, we’re playing, but it’s our trump card. Kinda like chess, you know?”

“So why have the tournament at all, if it’s so dangerous to us? Why risk it?”

“To flush ‘em out,” Qrow said simply. “And to _not_ have the tournament… well, _think,_ Tai. If Oz and Ironwood cancelled the very event to celebrate peace, that would cause more fear and uncertainty in Remnant than any enemy ever could. Seems like whatever we do, we'll play right into their hands...” The last part was murmured so softly that Taiyang wasn't sure he was meant to have heard it. 

“Right,” Taiyang grumbled after a pause. “You’re right, of course.”

“Obviously,” Qrow said with a little quirk of his mouth. “Always am, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know about this,” Taiyang said. “Sending my daughters into the tournament, now, knowing what you’ve just told me…. and…” He stared at his feet. “Now you’ve mentioned Yang’s partner, and how similar Raven and I are to them, I just—”

“Yang and Blake?” Qrow scoffed. “Is _that_ what you’re worried about? Why, they’re perfectly fine; typical school-days love. I could care less about my niece and her dating habits. Blake’s a good kid, Tai,” he said more seriously, leveling him with a piercing gaze. “She’s _not_ Raven. So when she comes here, you mustn’t judge her for it. That’s the first thing I wanted to tell you. The second thing is that you, under no circumstances, are to tell Ruby about— you know. Whatever… power… she might have.” 

“Her eyes,” he said, his voice slightly angry. “Summer and I _knew,_ the instant she opened them— pure silver. How can I _not_ tell her, knowing what I know?”

“You cannot tell her if you care for her, and want her to have even a semblance of a normal life.”

“She’s not going to _have_ a normal life, you idiot, don’t you understand?”

“You can try!” Qrow roared right back. “Pull yourself together, Taiyang! It’s high time you stopped preaching about normalcy and loss started showing some strength for your kids!”

After several long moments, Taiyang glared at Qrow, breathing heavily before he conceded, his blue eyes sliding to the side. “Fine. Sorry.”

“Good,” the scythe-wielder said ungraciously. “I won’t be back for quite some time, if I come back at all. Tell the kids I wish ‘em luck in the fights, and keep an eye on Ruby and Yang, understand? A Maiden’s kid and a silver-eyed warrior’s kid… well, they’re bound to attract the wrong crowd.”

Taiyang gave a short breath, as if pain. “I’ll do that.”

“Then this is goodbye, Tai.” He hesitated, uncertain, before he stuck out his weathered, calloused palm, and after a beat, Taiyang took the proffered hand and shook it, roughly pulling Qrow into a one-armed hug. Qrow stiffened in surprise, before returning it gruffly, clapping him on the back.

“Stay safe,” Tai said quietly, slightly muffled, into his shoulder. “We need you.”

Qrow’s eyes closed for a moment, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked in a breath. “I know.”

He detached himself after a few moments, and strode heavily to the door, pausing for a moment to nod at Taiyang. Then, with a glint of metal and a flash of silver, he spun and shrank into his namesake, gave Taiyang one last look from a beady crow’s eye, before spreading his wings, and soaring off into the dying sunset.

Several miles away, a Maiden watched in silence as she saw a dark speck wheeling in the sky, heading towards the place where the sky met the earth. 

 


	34. Chapter XXXIII - When It Falls

**_Yang_ **  
****

_This is her first dream in a while._

_Wind rushes around her, screaming and howling; it builds in the trees and skitters across the stones like disembodied voices. Somewhere in the distance, chimes clatter together, sounding nothing so much like a jangling cacophony of wails._

_Lights glimmer above, the star-strewn sky like a black sheaf of silk with diamonds spilled across the broad expanse. If it were real, Yang would feel a brief chill, however, in the dream, cold cannot touch her. The concepts of such things are foreign, alien; as unreachable to her as touching the moon._

_But she can feel fear._

_She walks slowly through the courtyard, very slowly, with the sinking feeling of someone treading to meet their own fate, knowing it may be their demise. Each step carries her thousand miles and a millimeter all at once. She’s gaining ground but unmoving at once._

_There’s a figure waiting at the front of the courtyard, a tall figure, a female. Her pale, slender hands are folded tranquilly on the hilt of the sword she bears, which is balanced point-down into the stone. The blade is an unforgettable red. In fact, most of the figure bears red— on her grotesque mask, on her legs, on her clothing. It looks eerily like blood. The comparison doesn’t help to set Yang at ease, and she approaches with every nerve drawn tight._

_It’s the figure from the train car, of that she is certain, but_ who _is the figure from the train car? Who is this mysterious guardian and savior? Who came to her aid, saved her from a certain grisly demise? Who would care that much to save her life?_

_“Who are you?” she whispers, the words hanging in the air. The figure inclines her head, and Yang catches a gleam of scarlet eyes, glittering with intelligence and cunning, like a fox._

_She lifts a pale hand to the mask, hesitating before tugging it off. The mask comes off slowly, as if time itself is holding its breath in reverence of the girl. All the breath is knocked out of Yang’s lungs as she sees the young face._

_It looks identical to her own, right down to the cold gleam in her red eyes, like Yang is looking in a mirror with all the colors inverted. She opens her mouth to speak, and the words blurt out in her fright, in the sheer fear she feels at being so close to this person, this enigma, this terror._

_“It’s you. You saved me. Raven,” she says in horror, before the dream balloons to the size of a house and shatters in a thousand glittering shards._

Yang shot awake to consciousness, a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead, chills running down her spine. _Raven,_ she thought dimly, unaware of why she thought it, of why the thought had occurred to her. She tried not to think of her mother, if she could help it. _Was I just dreaming of the train-car... or something about it? Yes, I think I was…_

She swung herself out of bed, bare feet hitting the floor; the rest of her team was gone, and it was late afternoon in the day, a bright, clear Saturday. They’d allowed her to sleep in. She blinked away the last lingering vestiges of sleep and padded on silent steps to the window, which was flung open, letting a cool breeze in. Yang took a deep breath of the brisk air, feeling the knot in her chest loosen slightly. 

Yang tried to remember the dream, but she could not; it was like trying to hold water, and remembering dreams in vivid recall was Blake’s forte, not hers. She remembered a flicker of red eyes and dark hair before it faded, leaving only a dim feeling of uneasiness in its place. _Whatever it was, it must have not been a good dream, but speaking of— well, thinking of— my mom…_

_I saw Raven,_ she thought to herself, feeling a cold, creeping chill in her veins _. At least, I think I saw her… I could have sworn I did. Someone helped me, back in that train car, and saved my life; that girl with the pink and brown hair would have killed me, right? She wouldn’t have been the type to leave a defeated opponent — she was with the White Fang, and they’ve got no honor like that. She would’ve wanted to finish the job, and she would have… if something, if someone, hadn’t interrupted her, and scared her away… And I saw a flash of a red sword and dark hair and then that red light… but it all happened so fast, in the blink of an eye, before it was gone… Might it have been a bit of my imagination?_

She shook her head. _No. It can’t have been. I wouldn’t have imagined something like that so vividly. I’ll have to search… but I’ll have to forget about it, for now, or it’ll consume me. I’ll push it to the back of my mind until it becomes relevant again… I can’t worry anyone with this. Besides, the Vytal tournament’s coming up, anyways… I can’t afford distractions._

She gripped the window sill, knuckles turning white. _I won’t be like my mother._

_Buzz! Buzz!_

She hastily started as her Scroll gave a tinny buzz, and she reached in her pocket, rummaging until she fished it out. A single face flashed across the screen: Blake, captured in a flustered half-smile, her eyes glowing. The picture had been snapped by Ruby, and Yang was next to her, kissing her cheek: she felt her heart contract for a moment before she hastily opened the message. Her partner had not said much. Only six short words popped up on the screen. 

_— Meet me where it all began._

Short, cryptic, and totally Blake— but she was nothing if not decipherable, at least to Yang, and she knew immediately where to go. Closing the text, Yang pulled on her boots, stuck her Scroll inside them, and quickly checked her hair in the mirror, before she took off.  


* * *

 

The Emerald Forest was a sea of gold, green, and amber in the dying light. Autumn was in full reign now, and the air was brisk and cool, whipping along leaves and twigs in great gusts. Yang jogged down along a beaten path before coming to a stop at a jagged cliffside: sure enough, Blake was sitting there, her hair snapping and folding like a black flag in the wind. She was turned around, so she didn’t see Yang approaching, but as she drew near, her ears twitched behind the bow and she whirled about. 

Her eyes softened. “You came. I didn’t know if you’d find me.” 

“I can track you, Blake,” Yang pointed out. “We’re Bonded, remember?” 

Blake mimicked her frown. “Fair enough.”

Yang clambered down to sit next to her. “Anyways… wow. Back at the beginning, are we? The Emerald Forest… seems like forever ago that we first met, that this all was set into motion… The school year’s over. It’s not a surprise, though; it flew by, huh?” 

Blake’s mouth twitched in a small smile as she returned her gaze to the tops of the trees. “You could say that, yes.” 

“You’re thinking,” Yang realized as she saw the distant look in Blake’s expression, like she was a hundred worlds away. “I recognize that furrowed-brow look. What’s up, huh?” 

Blake’s bow twitched, her ears flattening in displeasure behind the scrap of cloth. “Am I really so transparent?” 

“Just to me,” she chirped, tapping Blake on the nose. Her partner narrowed her eyes, looking about as menacing as thistledown; Yang grinned at her before sobering. “But really, a penny for your thoughts?” 

“I could simply be thinking about the past,” Blake said evasively, and Yang rolled her eyes. 

“Yeah, you _could,_ but you’re not,” she huffed. “Spill.” 

“It’s just that— well— must I? This is going to sound stupid.” 

Yang met her gaze seriously. “Nothing you say is stupid,” she announced, before tilting her head. “Well, except for the time you said Zwei was a monster. That’s the only stupid thing you’ve said.”

Blake’s eyes rolled heavenward, but she didn’t comment on the last part of Yang’s sentence; she hesitated before rushing out her words. “Well, so much of what has happened between between us was _chance._ Mere chance, that could have just as easily gone another way, that we may have never met except in passing. It’s a sobering thought.” 

Yang frowned at her. “That goes for a lot of things in life. I don’t think it’s coincidence that we met, Blake. I think that it’s part of our destiny. I believe in destiny. Do you?” 

“If there really is a Fate out there, controlling our paths so that no matter what we do, the final goal may not be altered…” She shook her head. “It seems like an unbearably cruel idea to me. There have been moments where I believed such an idea might be good, but they’ve gone as quickly as they came, leaving me shaking my head at my own foolishness.” 

“I don’t think of destiny like that,” Yang said softly. “And I don’t think you want to think of it as something cruel, do you?” 

“Like I’ve said, there have been instances. A few remarkable, fleeting instances…” She looked wistful for a moment, amber eyes clouded. “But it doesn’t matter. We did meet, and that’s that, and I’m happier for it.” 

Yang fell silent, the conversation sparking a flurry of new thoughts in her mind. _We’re opposites, her and I. And she’s really right, that almost everything we’ve ever done here, or in our lifetimes, has been dependent on chance… unless something else is really ’tweaking the strings’ of our fates…_

But that’s what they were, Blake and Yang. The fire and the ashes, the night and the day. Made from happenstance, coincidence— and that was the mystery of it all, that no one knew if anything was ever going to last. If the sun would burn out, if the moon would pull so far away they couldn’t see it anymore. But Yang knew you didn’t stop gazing at the stars out of fear that they wouldn’t be there someday. She’d rather appreciate them while they were there, and make wishes so they lasted. 

“You seem a million miles away now, not me,” Blake said to her. “What’s on your mind?” 

Yang turned her head sidelong and looked at her, feeling more at ease. “You.” 

Blake’s eyes settled on her thoughtfully, studying her face. Yang got the sense that Blake was looking at her, really _looking_ at her, and seeing her for who she was, all her flaws and hopes and wishes and dreams.

“I love you,” she said. “I don’t know if I’ve told you that when we weren’t in a desperate race for our lives, or mending ourselves. There’s no one I’d rather be partnered with.”

“I love you, too.” Yang smiled at her. “And I agree. Even if you can be infuriating.”

Blake rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m very flattered.”

Yang shifted her eyes to look out over the forest, over the sea of colors, the leaves whispering together in the wind. She remembered a year back, when she had soared over the tops of those trees, so high she could almost touch the sky.

"What was your landing strategy?"

Blake’s eyes shifted over to her, her thumb rubbing absentminded circles on her palm. “What?”

“I’m just thinking about my own," Yang murmured. She closed her eyes, summoning the memory back; she remembered arrowing over the tops of those trees, feeling the wind rush in her ears. Coming to Beacon at all had been a turning point for her, like flying, with the wind whipping at her hair and face. She did get some pretty good distance—partially for the thrill, but mostly as a challenge to herself. She wanted to go farther and faster, leaving everyone else in the dust as she touched the sky. And then— and always— the one and only person who caught up to her had been Blake. "It took like— what, a few minutes for us to meet up? For you to choose me, really.” 

“I hate to break it to you, but you were screeching like banshee and terrorizing every Grimm in the vicinity as you made your way through the forest,” Blake responded with a nonchalant shrug. “You weren’t inconspicuous. It wasn't hard to find you. As for deciding to willingly partner myself with someone who appeared so… _enthusiastic_ … that was another matter entirely.” 

Yang sprouted a teasing grin and leaned forward, balancing as she crossed her legs. “Holy Nevermore. Blake Belladonna, were you actually _looking_ for me?"

To Blake’s credit, she didn't get flustered, and even possessed a similar expression. "You just happened to stand out more."

"Thanks… I _think_. But you didn't answer my other question.”

"My landing strategy?" With a hint of mischief, Blake answered, “Truly, I just used my weapon to hook the branches of the trees and swing myself safely down to the ground… but it didn't matter. I always land on my feet when I’m with you.”

Yang flushed at the sincerity of the statement, and she smiled, putting her hand over Blake’s as their fingers intertwined, as natural as the sun falling in the sky. “You know what? This is finally— we finally get to relax and just— _be._ We’ve come so far. Sometimes I wake up and I remember what we once used to be — those days on the cliff, the shipyard, the forest, all the trouble and heartache we’ve gone to, just to get here now. It’s unreal, but at the same time, it’s the realest thing I’ve ever done or felt. And maybe that sounds cheesy. I don’t know. But I think other than coming here and meeting you guys— I mean, you’re all my family now, really. You and Weiss and Ruby. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Blake’s eyes were glimmering orbs of molten gold in the full force of the light. “I wouldn’t change a thing either,” she said, “except, perhaps, to have come to my senses sooner.”

Yang blinked at her, remembering the night she had held Blake, fragile as a broken-winged bird, on the abandoned highway as the rubble of metal shone in the moonlight. She had never been so scared, never had the full force of realization crash down on her so absolutely: _I cannot lose her; I love her._ “And that means?” 

Blake’s face turned, eyelashes casting long, spidery shadows down over her angular cheeks, dark hair edged in the light of flame. “I should have realized how much I loved you sooner.” She turned her face sidelong, and Yang glanced at her: the little silver scars trailing down her skin that, to another person, would have made her imperfect, but to Yang, made her who she was— a part of the person she loved the most in the whole world _._ “You used to get under my skin so entirely when I first met you,” she said. “It was perplexing. And infuriating.” 

“What about now?” 

“Now it just makes me love you more, that you somehow always manage to find the real me. Even when I don’t know who that is, you always manage to. When I am with you, even if it’s in the middle of a warzone, I know who I am. And Yang… I always want you by my side. Beyond Beacon, beyond these four years… wherever we might end up… as long as it’s together, I think I’ll be okay… you know that, don’t you?”

Yang squeezed her hand tighter in answer, and Blake’s smile was easy and light as the stars dawning above, curling higher on one side than the other: her real smile, unforced. “The Vytal Festival is so soon. It’s another chapter we’re beginning in this great story of life… but I want to spend every page with you.”

Yang leaned forward and kissed her full on the mouth, lingering, before she smiled. “Books, of course, I should have known you would relate to them. Don’t worry. We’ve got all the time in the world, you and me, you know that?”

“I know it.”

Yang tightened her arms around her as the sun finally sank below the horizon, shooting rays of light upward and mixing with the stars, painting a gold mosaic across the heavens, like angels fallen from the sky.

 

* * *

 

**_???_ **

In a few month’s time, it would all be gone. 

She looked out over the shining, glorified land of Vale, at the lakes and towns, the crimson woods and emerald forests, the city and the great, spiring summit of Beacon Tower. Soon, it would be vanquished, and darkness would reign supreme. 

And she would be empowered under that darkness. Her name would be spoken with reverence and fear. She would be strong; powerful; _feared…_ and she could achieve all she wanted and all she needed. Her eye blazed with fire, with true flame likened to that of Autumn; she _had_ a chunk of power now, but it wasn’t enough… for that, she needed all of the Maiden’s light. And she would become a god, a god among the living; she would be a legend; her own hunger for power had twisted her, so that in her mind, she was a towering figure who blotted out the light of even the stars. 

For her Master, she _would_ succeed _,_ she swore it. 

The woman uncurled her fingers from her wrist, watching her veins fade from a torturous black, to red, to the faintest shimmer of blue. Her Master had set everything in motion, and the flaws that had happened thus far were too inconsequential to be of any matter. 

Now, she only need to tip the first domino and they would be the cause of their own destruction. And she would sit back and watch— and savor it, savor watching them fall, divide themselves, and _burn._

_Yes,_ she thought, looking out over the crumbling city. _Let them think they have their hope and their happiness. Let them cling to their legends, their guardians and saviors. Let them hold onto a false tranquility. That will make our victory of their destruction all the sweeter. They do not know how they will divide and burn in the end, but it is coming, the night of mankind._

The sun slid below the horizon, giving way to the darkness of night, and Cinder Fall’s eyes flickered with an unnatural fire like autumn, a cold promise within them. 

_They do not know that when the final warning comes, it will be too late._  
  
It is already too late.  

 

 

> _**END OF BOOK I** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, let's try to push to 700 comments. See it? Review it.  
> Now, ahhh, we’re finally at the closing of one arc. We have ended a long, twisting ride of angst and coming-of-age, of love and heartbreak and everything in between… and I’ve grown along with writing this, and seen myself mature as a writer even further. This was a massive project and a thrilling ride, but I can honestly say I don’t regret it at all, and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for sticking with me through the whole thing. 
> 
> So, you, my dear readers, are left wondering: what happens now? 
> 
> There’s loose threads, there’s another volume chock-full of angst and bees, and there’s a lot of stuff that’s writing fodder. So… what do I have in mind next for you? 
> 
> That’s right: the sequel, of course! I’m determined to get it done as soon as I can for you, my readers. As I’ve offhandedly mentioned in a previous A/N, there will be a sequel, and it’s already planned out with 50,000 words written so far. However, you know that I lack a laptop over the summer… which is June, July, and the beginning of August. I will be using that time to write on my phone, and also to plan and iron out stuff. I’ll be on an AO3 hiatus during that time. To put it simply, you can expect the sequel to be coming out sometime around the end of August— the beginning of September, but not before then.
> 
> Goodbye until then, and THANK YOU to the reviewers who have made all of this truly worth it. I would not be where I am without your feedback. <3


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